All Rivers Flow To The Sea
by Annaicuru
Summary: Sequel to "The Daughter Of Elves And Men". Mithmir's life appears to be going perfectly, but can reality be as good as her dreams?
1. A New Understanding

I just wrote all of this watching "Fellowship" again, drooling over Legolas :)  Some things never change!  This chapter slightly depressed me but my views on Mithmír's mother changed while I was writing it – she's gone from cold, detached Elf to someone I can actually relate to, which has to be good, and there are some aspects of her which are similar to Mithmír.

Thanks for all the reviews on the first chapter!  I hope you enjoy this one and please review.

***

'Naneth!' said Mithmír breathlessly.  _Mother_!  'I thought you only came for Arwen's wedding and that you were already gone from the White City!'

Lómwing shook her head sadly, her eyes telling all the sorrow of her people, the High Elves who had seen the light in Valinor; the people whom she had forsaken to love a mortal man whose soul had now departed from the spheres of the world.  She placed a gentle hand on her daughter's arm.  'I am not so cruel as to leave you so soon!  Please, Mithmír Rochiwen, nín sell [_my daughter_], sit and we may talk awhile.'

Mithmír nodded slowly and took her place beside her mother on the bench of pure, white stone.  The courtyard was bathed in sunlight, the day warm, and she felt greatly at peace; disturbed only by the aura of great pain emanating from her silent mother.  She motioned politely for her mother to begin; though she was loath to awaken old wounds by talking – as they inevitably would – on her father.

Lómwing looked with troubled, grey eyes at her daughter.  _Oh, my child, my love, _she thought, _you have truly grown to womanhood_.  'You have aged much since we last met,' was all she said in a stately manner, trying to hide her breaking heart.  _And you are so much like your father Dîntir…  _A single tear dropped down her smooth, ageless cheek.  Mithmír felt helpless, confronted with her _mother_ openly crying.  She did not know how to act.  Luckily for her, however, Lómwing continued to speak.  'I hear that you have decided to be counted among the Elves.'  She smiled bravely.  'It is fitting, I suppose, that as the mother loses her immortality and kin, her daughter takes her place.'  She patted Mithmír's hand lovingly.  'I do not blame you, nín sell [_my daughter_].  Far from it!  I wish you joy and good health with the fairest of people.  After the death of my beloved Dîntir,' another tear escaped her rain-cloud eyes, 'I have had little or no love for Men and the Doom that is upon them; even for Aragorn who was your father's greatest friend.  And now they have taken our Evenstar also, just as they shall take the beautiful Middle Earth after the Fair Folk are gone.'  Her eyes were unfocused, as if she was looking at something far out of the world.

Mithmír wordlessly put her arms around Lómwing, holding her firm against the tide of grief.  She realized that, no matter how much she was akin to her father, she resembled her mother also; in more subtle ways.  'No-sîdh.  Sí im.' she said comfortingly.  _Be peaceful_.  _I am here_.

'You are so kind, like your father,' whispered Lómwing.  Looking down Mithmír could only see the dark-blonde halo of her mother's perfectly straight hair.   'You seem so cold on the outside, so stubborn, the fierce warrior only and no more; but inside…'  She smiled, withdrawing from the embrace.  'Inside is the soul which is warm and loving enough to draw an Elf away from her people and the Western Shores.'  She lay her hands on her lap elegantly, effortlessly.  'Mithmír, the Elves are failing and the Sea is calling us again…'  A flicker of pain cast a shadow on her beautiful face.  'I can no longer follow that call.  Now my love has gone I may find no rest in Middle Earth nor Aman.'  She lowered her voice to the slightest of whispers, but the words were clear and their meaning easily understood and deathly serious.  'I stay here until my daughter is joined to her Elven love and needs me no longer.  Then I shall bring my end upon myself, dying by a sword even as my husband did.  I follow him then, to where I cannot say…  I follow Dîntir even as Lúthien did Beren.  And now the end is even harder to me, for my daughter shall never follow my steps…'  She sat tall and straight, and it seemed that a white light came from her.  'But Elbereth Gilthoniel blessed you, and for that I am ever grateful.  I am afraid, Mithmír Rochiwen, and I do not hide it: but my love for the Dúnedain Dîntir I do not renounce; and it shall give me the strength to endure the Doom of Men.'  She smiled again, and the look was so sorrowful that Mithmír herself wept.  'You shall see the Light of the Valar, Mithmír,' she said in a final whisper.  'You shall pass across the Sea, though it may grieve the part of you that is Human still.  Remember me then, and your father.'  She leaned forward and kissed her daughter's forehead almost regally; seeming once again like the High Elf she was.

'Cenlim a namanadh,' _You shall see the white light_ _and have eternal bliss_, she said finally.  'Cenle lim awarthaim an meleth Dúnedain.'  _You shall see the light which I forsook for the love of a Dúnedain_.

And then she got up silently and walked away.  Mithmír looked after her in awe, seeing one of the kin of Galadriel as she truly was: tall and regal, bold in the face of fear, beautiful in her sorrow, and loyal to the end; with still the Light of the Trees in her soul.

'If I can grow up half the woman you are, _nana _[mummy],' whispered Mithmír, suddenly regretting the fact that, after her childhood, she had never spent much time with her mother, 'I shall be counted with the fairest of the fair and the wisest of the wise; and call myself blessed indeed.'

'Where shall we _live_, Legolas?'  Asked Mithmír realistically.  Legolas was walking with her in the square where the descendant of the Tree of Númenor – which Aragorn had brought to the City – had been planted.  It was twilight, and they had been talking over Mithmír's meeting with her mother before then.  The maiden was greatly distressed at the idea of her mother's unavoidable suicide; and Legolas had been consoling her – with little success, but at least she was becoming more accepting of the fact.

The Wood Elf looked towards the Tree as if for inspiration.  Mithmír didn't speak again.  She knew he had heard; knew he was thinking.  She was happy just _being _with him; feeling his body close against hers, his arm around her shoulders protecting but not restricting.  She leaned her head onto his chest, so his strands of pure blonde hair tickled her nose, and one of his plaits swung before her eyes with the rhythm of his footsteps.  She felt at peace, walking with this most beautiful of creatures.

Legolas' mind strayed, as it often did now, to the Sea.  He could still hear its call echoing in his thoughts; and here before him was a Tree whose ancestors were the Trees of Light who grew in Valinor before they were marred by Morgoth…  He prayed that Mithmír wished to cross the sea also.  He would not go without her; but neither could he stay and be happy.  'Where do _you _want to live, Mithmír Silfëa?'  He asked, buying more time to think.

She sighed, and looked up to the stars which were now beginning to appear.  'Aragorn offered us a grand mansion in Minas Tirith, or Osgiliath when it is remade; and I would live close to him; but…' she paused, and then turned her head up to her fiancé's, 'I love the _woods_, Legolas, the wild places, the rivers and dells.  I always have, but now… maybe it is that my Elven side is blossoming now I am immortal, but I desire them even more and will live nowhere else.'  She shrugged, and scuffed a small stone with her foot.  'I don't want to live in a city of Men, even if it is the fairest of all cities.'

'But you do wish to live somewhere close enough to Aragorn so you may visit him?'

'Do I detect a glimmer of _jealousy _in your Elven voice, Legolas Greenleaf?'  Said Mithmír playfully.

'Me?  Jealous?  Of anyone close to you?'  Asked Legolas, with a mock-incredulous look in his pretty face.  'Of course, my dear Silfëa!'  He stopped walking and swung her around into a close embrace, leaning down to kiss her slowly with all the grace and elegance of his kind.

Mithmír only reacted half a minute later by pushing him away, a flush rising in her cheeks.  '_Legolas_!'  She scolded, looking around them.  'Anyone could have seen!'

'They all know anyway, Mithmír,' replied Legolas softly.  'And I _want _them all to know how much I love you.'  His bright blue eyes sparkled in the growing darkness; his pale, ivory features emphasized by the growing shadows.  Mithmír realized again how stunning he was; and then a second later, how he was _hers _and hers alone.

'We'll talk first; and then you can sow them.'  Said Mithmír firmly.  'Yes, I do want to live near Aragorn.  And Faramir and Éowyn too: Faramir has been named Prince of Ithilien –'

'Ithilien?'  Legolas asked, instantly alert.  He remembered that country from their march through it on the way to Mordor: a pretty, wild woodland, full of life despite the shadow over it.  There had been Wood Elves of his kin there once; he could feel the impression of them in the place.  And it was near the Sea…  It had often occurred to him that he should like to start a Wood Elf colony there, and return it to its former beauty.  'How much of that land belongs to Faramir then?'

'I think that Aragorn said the people shall be relatively few, and act as rangers mostly – at least for the first few years anyway.  It shall centre around Henneth Annûn, of course.'  She began to guess Legolas' thoughts, and added quickly, 'there shall be much of that fair land left untouched, and owned by no one…'  She smiled knowingly.  'Maybe enough left for an Elven colony from Mirkwood, led by a Prince who wants a land near to the Sea and…' she winked mischievously, 'relatively close to the mines where his Dwarven friend shall live.'

'What makes you think I care for a Dwarf who lives only for rocks and dark caves?'  Asked Legolas, trying to look shocked at the suggestion and failing without caring.  His incredibly close friendship with the dwarf Gimli was well-known throughout Gondor.

Mithmír ignored his reply.  'Am I right about Ithilien, Legolas?  Would you settle there?  Would you start an Elven kingdom there by Faramir's kingdom of Men?'  She couldn't hide the excitement in her voice or the delight in her eyes.  This was a way she could be near all those closest to her!

Legolas couldn't deny her, seeing the happiness in her face, and truth to tell he liked the idea himself, and would probably have come to the same decision on his own.  'I'm sure there are many Mirkwood Elves who will follow their prince to a pretty wood,' he said with a smile.  'And even more when they see the beautiful face of the woman who shall be their queen!'

'Thank you, Legolas, thank you!'  Cried Mithmír, overjoyed, leaping into his arms.  'You cannot understand how much that means to me.  It seems all my dreams are coming true, and it's all thanks to _you_, Legolas.'

'You make all your dreams come true yourself, Mithmír.  You're still as self-sufficient as ever.  Don't ever become a helpless, dependant girl.'  He said with a smile, glad to see how happy an easy decision had made his love.  'Do I get that kiss now?'  He asked cheekily.

Mithmír happily obliged him.__


	2. A Sister For A Brother

"All Rivers Flow To The Sea" is the sequel to "The Daughter Of Elves And Men", my first fanfic on fanfiction.net. This story will make very little, if any sense, to you if you haven't read its prequel. Please go and read "The Daughter Of Elves And Men" by searching under my penname, Annaicuru.  
  
For those of you who have already read "The Daughter Of Elves And Men" welcome back! Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews, suggestions and support. You said you wanted a sequel and here you are. The events here begin a few days after the end of the last fanfic. To sum up what's happened since: Legolas has asked Aragorn for Mithmír's hand (and been granted it joyfully); Aragorn and Arwen have married (just); and to pretty much everyone's surprise Mithmír's mother, Lómwing, came with Arwen and her company from Rivendell.  
  
Hope you enjoy it and please review! The beginning of this chapter is pretty much just sweet stuff, to give you the idea of how Mithmír and Legolas' relationship has progressed. Sorry if it's a bit slow-moving. It gets better, I promise.  
  
***  
  
'I love you.' Legolas murmured soothingly. The words were so simple, but they meant so much - especially when they came from those wonderful lips. Mithmír blushed, as much because of his words as because of the tender fingers that flitted over her bare shoulders and neck comfortingly. Legolas was far better at massaging than she was, a fact she had learnt early on.  
  
Legolas leaned around her so he could see her face. 'Feel good?' he asked with a knowing grin, flexing his fingers once again meaningfully. Mithmír's head reflexively dropped back onto his lap as she breathed out deeply, moaning quietly at the pleasurable sensations.  
  
'I'll take that as a "yes",' he replied softly, moving forward and downwards to kiss her exposed neck slowly, leaving his lingering scent of ever-fresh woodland on her skin.  
  
Mithmír relished these precious times; and even more the idea that soon - when they were married - they would be able to have them always. The thought made warm tingles run all over her. Legolas was different from the (few) other men who'd try to win her affections: he never demanded anything from her that she didn't willingly give. He understood her fears and apprehensions in all areas, including love. He had never tried to take their kisses and embraces any further; and Mithmír was glad for it.  
  
There was a knock on the door a second later, and Faramir's voice rang out, 'Mithmír? May I come in?'  
  
Mithmír got up suddenly and agilely, leaping to her feet like a cat, perfectly balanced. Legolas rolled back and away, standing up lithely beside the window. Mithmír thanked the lady Elbereth that she was lucky enough to have a room on the ground floor. It allowed Legolas to open the window, slip out, and drop to the ground noiselessly; from where he looked up once, blew her a silent kiss, and then was gone - all before the door opened and Faramir entered.  
  
'Mithmír?' Asked Faramir, confused. 'Why are you leaning out the window?'  
  
Mithmír spun around, looking guilty. 'Oh. oh, no reason, Faramir, my brother.' She smiled brightly, regaining her composure, and sat down on the bed. Faramir sat beside her, and he couldn't hide the grin that was spread over his face.  
  
'What makes you smile so, Faramir?' Asked Mithmír, looking at him oddly.  
  
Faramir ducked his head a little, abashed. 'Well, Mithmír. Éowyn and I have been talking with Aragorn, and we've decided on our wedding day! It's to be in only four days, Mithmír! That soon! And I want you to be there so much, as my sister, since. since Boromir can't be there as my brother.'  
  
Mithmír embraced him silently, feeling his sorrow at the loss of his brother - however long ago it had been - as sharply as he did. 'Of course I'll be there on such a happy day, on your special day, Faramir! I'm honored, to be allowed to stand as your family in the ceremony.'  
  
'I'd have no one else, Mithmír,' replied Faramir in a deep voice, surreptitiously wiping away a tear on the back of his hand. He had been incredibly close to his older brother; and even with his happiness at being around Éowyn and Mithmír herself, nothing could completely replace that bond.  
  
'I can't believe it'll finally happen,' he said breathlessly a second later, getting up from the bed and making for the door. 'It's the beginning of the best part of my life, Mithmír!'  
  
She didn't hear the rest of his words, his happy goodbye, the door closing behind him. With his last words running through her head she sat alone in her room, faced again with the inescapable truth that while her life had no ending, Faramir's death was doomed to come, and she had no choice but to stay, powerless, and watch her beloved brother die. 


	3. Hiding Her Fear

Thanks for the reviews!!!!  Glad to hear you're enjoying it.

Please enjoy and review.

***

Mithmír dropped her hairbrush and swore loudly.  She bent carefully at the knee to retrieve it from the floor.  From his seat on the bed, Legolas chuckled.

'I don't see _you _helping!'  Shouted Mithmír in annoyance, waving the brush at him violently.

'Language like that doesn't suit you, Mithmír Silfëa,' he scolded.  'You're a lady of high rank, remember?'

'You wouldn't guess it to look at me; and I certainly don't _feel _like it,' she replied in exasperation; beginning to brush her hair again.  'I don't think the Elves of Ithilien will be happy to have an uncivilized shield-maiden like myself as the wife of their prince – king, should I say – and so their queen.  They'll be shocked to see I don't dance well; I don't sing; I only play the flute – and badly at that; I'm not exactly the most beautiful thing you've ever seen; I'm –'

Legolas stood up and pressed a finger to her lips.  'Hush,' he said concernedly, with real pain in his eyes.  'I hate to hear you talk of yourself like that.  You're far from uncivilized; you dance with real enthusiasm and _life_; your singing voice is strong and moving; you play well; and you are the most stunning, alluring, attractive woman I have ever had the pleasure of seeing.  I love you, Mithmír, and I won't hear you or anyone else put you down.'  He stopped suddenly, seeing a mischievous gleam enter her eye.  Seconds later he felt her lips part under his finger, and he expected to hear her say something invariably witty, maybe even sarcastic, but instead a warm, moist tongue flicked out from her mouth and slipped fleetingly across his skin.  Her eyes glinted playfully, noting that Legolas' thick lashes blinked rapidly and a red tinge coloured his smooth, ageless skin.

When Legolas' eyes finally opened wide again, he whispered, 'you little wildcat,' with a grin; but his moved his finger away, regretfully.  'You have to get ready, Mithmír.  The wedding takes place in just over an hour.'  He lay back down on her bed luxuriously, fiddling with the dagger at his belt as he often did when he was thinking.

Mithmír finished her hair soon enough, and looked over herself once again in the full-length mirror.  She wore a light blue tunic with silver needlework over grey trousers; as Faramir had told her to not be ridiculous and put on a dress when she didn't really want to wear one.  Aragorn had kindly provided her with new, sturdy boots that fitted perfectly.  The silver friendship-bracelet was on her wrist as usual, reminding her of far-away companions; and her hair had been painstakingly arranged in an intricate twist.

'You, nín meleth [_my love_], are more beautiful than even the Evenstar in my eyes,' intoned Legolas softly in her right ear, coming up behind her and nuzzling his head into her neck.  'You shall have to be careful or you will outshine the bride.'

Mithmír chuckled.  '_No one_ surpasses Éowyn in Faramir's eyes, not even his beloved sister,' she said wryly.  'And today she shall be even more radiant than ever.  I should know – I have seen her dress, and it's _incredible_.'

'So what do you have to do for the ceremony?'  Asked Legolas with interest; loath to leave for the wedding and have to share his beloved with anyone else.  He treasured these times when they were just together, alone; more than she – or anyone else – could ever know or appreciate.

'Just be there for Faramir.  I accompany him nearly all the way up the Hall to where Aragorn shall stand to join the bride and groom together.  I don't have to say anything special or do anything in particular, apart from that.  Faramir just wants me to _be _there for him.  He misses his father and Boromir greatly.'

Legolas nodded gravely.  'Boromir was brave and noble and died the death of a hero.  He and Faramir are similar in many ways.'

'And yet different in many more still,' added Mithmír, making for the door.  'So I am to be there for Faramir as his family member – an honour I greatly appreciate.'  She looked at Legolas with an odd smile creasing her features.  'Faramir said that if you and I were married by then, you could stand with me as his brother-in-law.'  She laughed a little as they walked out of the house.  'It still makes me dizzy to think of you as my future husband.  I just can't get my head around it.'  She loved at him with love obvious in her dark eyes.

Legolas silently agreed.  _I cannot be worthy of this marvelous, magnificent creature_.  'Mithmír –' he halted her with a hand on her arm – 'before we go to the wedding of Faramir and Éowyn, Mithmír, I ask you again: when shall _we _be married?'

Mithmír turned to him, standing tall and nearly his height.  'The sooner the better,' she said simply; 'but such things cannot be rushed.  You must talk to your parents before we wed, and there are elves I would see in Lothlorien and Imladris also before I become a wife.'  She shrugged.  'I wished to marry you this year, but the longer we are delayed here in Minas Tirith the less likely that seems.  When Aragorn is happy for us to depart from here, I would follow the hobbits to Imladris first; and then return here, but lingering in Lothlorien on the way.  You say you want to visit Fangorn Forest and the Glittering Caves with Gimli; and I know by the way you look when you say it that you want to spend time alone with him and a woman would be a hindrance – however loved she is by you.'  Legolas didn't even try to deny it; he knew by her happy grin that she understood that he wanted time alone with his great friend as she did with her own dearest companions; and it did not hurt her.  'It seems to me then that we should part for a while, maybe a month or more, and then meet again in Ithilien, with the Elves who will live there, where we may marry immediately.'  She put her ideas forward firmly and clearly as always; and Legolas barely resisted the temptation to kiss away the familiar frown that nestled on her brow when she made a point.  'And if your parents could be there for our wedding, that should be perfect – I would love to meet my mother- and father-in-law.  Aragorn, Arwen, Faramir and Éowyn shall definitely come also.'

'Of course,' he said with a gentle smile.  'It seems I shall have to wait much longer for my love than Faramir had to for Éowyn.'  He kissed her cheek once, graciously, with the utmost tenderness.  'You are most definitely worth _any_ wait, Mithmír, and I do not regret it.  I shall never grudge you time with your friends.  We shall have all of eternity together, you and I – and our children.'  He could not hide his joy at the prospect of having a family with her, and a light entered his eyes.

She nodded, tight-lipped, and then moved away quickly to the Hall where the wedding was to be.  She didn't want Legolas to see her confused face, the uncertainty in her eyes.  It was better if he thought she was happy and well and did not worry for her.

_I love you, Legolas, more than I love myself or anything else, so why am I afraid to bear your children?_


	4. A Steward And His ShieldMaiden

As you can see, I used artistic license on the wedding ceremony here.  I can't find anything on weddings in LOTR, it merely says "and Aragorn the King Elessar wedded Arwen Undómiel in the City of the Kings upon the day of Midsummer"…  [_ROTK, Bk Six, Chap. V, The Steward and the King_].  I may have missed something; but anyway here it is.  In this story, however, weddings differ from culture to culture, race to race, place to place, and family to family.  I also slightly brought the date forward for purposes of the story.

Thanks for all the reviews.  Yeah that is a foreshadow, and yes I can also say you will like Legolas more when you find out how he reacts to the news!  He is so nice/gorgeous/sexy… (list goes on!) :)

Hope you enjoy it and please review.  I have had no time to re-read this except for a quick skim so sorry for any glaring errors.

***

In the Wedding Hall 

'I'm nervous, Mithmír,' Faramir whispered tensely.  He had led Mithmír away from the main group of people to talk to her in private before Éowyn was led in by Éomer.  He gripped her hand tightly, desperate for reassurance.

She smiled kindly.  'I am nervous to be joined to Legolas, Faramir, but nevertheless I want it more than anything,' she said calmingly.  'Éowyn loves you, and the Valar only know how much you love her.  Remember what you told me before, Faramir: this is the beginning of the best part of your life.  You and her will have only happiness.'  Remembering Legolas' previous words to her, she continued, hoping it would have a different effect on her brother than it had had on her, 'imagine the family you will have together; and how happy you will be in Ithilien!  And remember how I told you that Legolas may chose to live in Ithilien also?  Well he has said _yes, _Faramir!  We need not ever be parted by the many lonely leagues between North and South.'

He embraced her closely, whispering into her ear over and over, 'my sister, my sister, my beloved sister…' finally he let her go, but still his strong hand held hers to his chest.  'You have quieted my fears yet again, as you always do.  Thank you again, Mithmír my sister, thank you for _everything_.'  His eyes spoke a thousand words and emotions, and the elf thought for a second she caught a fleeting glimpse within of a tall, dark-haired man, like Faramir and yet more proud.  She recognized it as Boromir, who had been lost.  She smiled as brightly as she could, silently promising, _I cannot replace Boromir in your heart, Faramir,  but I shall be as good a sister as I can_.

'I cannot wait for _your _marriage, Mithmír Rochiwen!' said Faramir joyfully.  'That shall be an equally joyous day!'

'Of course, Faramir,' said Mithmír with a smile, 'but see – King Aragorn is beckoning for you.  That means Éomer must be outside with Éowyn.  Go!'  She pushed him forward.  'Enjoy this day, for it comes but once in your life!'

He looked back to her once more with a loving, brave smile, his characteristic lock of brown hair cheekily flopping over one eye.  He raised a hand in a half-salute, half-wave, and then turned on his heel and walked away to the back of the Hall.  Mithmír followed him, feeling unreasonably nervous, and stood behind him on his right side.  She felt ridiculously out-of-place among the elegantly dressed, gown-clad noble-maidens of Minas Tirith.  She scowled a little in annoyance.  Faramir must have been looking, for he snorted a little as if in disgust.  'You're _much _nicer than that lot of preening swans, and prettier too,' he said with a grin, not bothering to lower his voice.  Several women gasped and looked affronted.  Mithmír giggled despite herself.  'I'd rather have a shield-maiden than a _lady _any day,' finished Faramir, winking mischievously.

'You will have one, too,' said Mithmír, 'and I wish you all the luck and happiness with her, my brother.  She is a lucky woman.'

Faramir nodded gratefully.  'Thanks, Mithmír.  You don't know how much your blessings and good will mean to me.  If you didn't like Éowyn so much –' for indeed, Mithmír and Éowyn, though they had rarely met, got along exceedingly well and easily – 'I don't know what I would have done.'

'Followed your heart and married her anyway of course, you silly man,' chided Mithmír playfully.

He was about to reply when the herald's trumpets blew energetically, and the Hall doors swung open majestically, slowly.  Aragorn took his place at the head of the Hall, and the guests took their seats.  Many of the woman, doubtless, had fancied themselves as competitors to win Faramir's hand; and now, being snubbed, crinkled their noses in annoyance while trying to keep their well-mannered smiles.  The law of this occasion said Faramir could not turn to see his future bride till she was beside him, but there was nothing to say that Mithmír couldn't.  Standing tall and regal, she twisted her head back.

Éomer came walking slowly towards them, dressed in his shining armor, his smile wide and his steps in time with the music of flutes and harps.  Close to his side was Éowyn, clasping her brother's hand as if he were too dear for her to lose; but nevertheless she stood as tall and bold as the fabled queen-women of her ancestry.  On her face was a joyous smile; and in her eyes boundless bliss.  Her golden hair was loose about her shoulders, and it glittered in the sunlight that poured through the windows and open door.  Her dress was wondrous indeed: as bold and outstanding as she was; and coloured as the deepest, most lustrous red.  It billowed out behind her on the breeze, making it appear that she was floating, motionless in grace, on some heavenly wind.  At her waist was a golden girdle of _elanor _flowers intricately twined together; and in her hair was a circlet of the same colour.  The neck of the dress was not too low or high; suitably modest and yet flattering to her smooth, young body; which though firm and toned after years of sword-play was incredibly curvaceous and feminine.  Round her neck was hung a delicate golden chain, on which was a pendant of a red jewel; one of the heirlooms of the Rohirrim.  Behind the brother and sister walked a courtier, also in full armor, holding high the flag of Rohan, high and proud in the breeze.

Mithmír was amazed.  She had no idea that Éowyn, who she had always known was pleasant in looks, could be _stunning_.  She could not wait to see how Faramir would react to seeing his love so dressed.  She smiled at Éowyn in support, and mouthed 'good luck!'

Éowyn grinned nervously back.  Mithmír found herself wondering what _she _would look like with makeup – and more importantly if Legolas would like it…

Legolas, from where he sat, struggled to keep his mind on the wedding of his future brother-in-law and not drift into a daydream of what Mithmír would look like on their wedding day.  He caught his friend Aragorn's eye and they shared a smile.  Legolas didn't doubt for a second that Aragorn knew what he was thinking.

Faramir thought his heart would burst with suspense.  He could _hear _the steps of the approaching party; and the gasps of the crowd.  He bit his lip nervously, and waited.  He was well rewarded when Éomer, having let go of Éowyn's hand, stepped up before him, and bowed regally.  Mithmír noticed there was a smile on Éomer's face, but a sadness too at losing his sister.  It was said the pair were very close; and Éomer had often come to blows with other men – including Wormtongue - to protect his younger sister; and though she would say that she needed no protection, she was still grateful.

When both men had bowed ceremoniously, Éomer said loudly and clearly, 'Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor and future Prince of Ithilien, I am Éomer, Lord of the Mark; and I would give to you today the hand of my fair sister Éowyn, renowned slayer of the Witchking of Angmar, and Lady of Rohan; if you still consider yourself worthy of this honour.'

'I do,' said Faramir as he was meant to and indeed was.

'Do the assembled guests believe this man, the Steward Faramir, speaks true?'  Asked Éomer, easily remembering the ancient words.  There was a cheer from the crowd, Aragorn and Mithmír's voices raised above nearly all others.  Faramir blushed proudly, and flicked his hair out of his eyes in a characteristic gesture.

'Then I give her to you now, Lord Faramir, and by his grace the King Elessar shall join you as man and wife; strengthening the bonds between your people and mine to even greater levels.'  Éomer took then Éowyn and drew her forward, taking Faramir's right hand and Éowyn's left and joining them together; after which he kissed Éowyn's cheek softly, whispered some sweet words in her ear, and then went to his seat, which was beside Mithmír's.  It was lucky that Faramir did not have to speak then, for he was speechless at the lady's beauty.  Their eyes locked in an almost timeless stare; and what silent words were said then no one else ever knew.

They finally walked eagerly towards Aragorn, stopping before him side by side.  Faramir turned and ceremoniously kissed his sister, instilling a great pride in her to be counted as his _family_, who then moved away to her seat.  Éomer's eyes, Mithmír noticed with a compassionate smile, were glistening with tears of pride.  He smiled back.

The King Elessar began: 'we are here today to join the peoples of Gondor and Rohan with a new bond of love and intimacy; as the Steward Faramir and the Lady Éowyn wed.'  He smiled.  The wedding ceremony according to the Gondor and Rohan way was short but sweet; and the festivities lasted many days.  'Lord Faramir, do you take this fair Lady Éowyn to be yours and yours alone, to share your bed and home, to love and cherish through sickness and health, to mother your children, for all eternity?'

Faramir's voice was calm, but its depth of love could not be measured.  'I give my word that I shall take no other maiden than Lady Éowyn; I shall share my bed and home with no other; I shall love her with all my heart and soul to death and beyond; and I should have her and my kin joined together in our children.'  It could be seen that he grasped her hand tightly.  Éowyn smiled happily.

'Lady Éowyn, do you take this Lord Faramir to be yours and yours alone, to share you bed and home, to love and cherish through sickness and health, and to father your children, for all eternity?'

'I give the word of my heart and soul,' replied Éowyn in a voice that was almost ringing in joy, 'that I shall take no other man than Lord Faramir; I shall share my bed and home with no other; I shall love him with all my being to for all Time; and I should gladly bear his children.'  She smiled boldly, and Mithmír perceived a light in her eyes, as if she had glimpsed some wonderful truth.

'Give then your final vow, Faramir, Denethor's son,' intoned Aragorn, unable to hide his happiness at joining two lovers in matrimony.  He had been looking exceptionally _alive _ever since his own marriage; standing as regal as any King of Númenor, as straight as the Tree in the courtyard outside.

'I vow to thee, Éowyn the Golden Haired,' said Faramir in a deep voice laced with bliss, 'that the love and desire I feel for you is boundless and endless.  You are more dear to me than any other; and I shall never find a greater happiness than to hold you in my arms, to protect and love you for all eternity, as my wife and lady.'

Éowyn's pale cheeks flushed a little, and she moved a step closer to him.  'I vow to thee, Faramir the Ranger of Ithilien, that my heart beats only when you are by my side, and your spirit gives mine life.  The love I feel for you cannot be measured in words.  You are all that I desire from my life, and if necessary I should gladly give my life for thine.  To have you as my husband and father of my children should be to give me bliss as great as that found in Valinor here on Middle Earth.'

'Then the thing is settled in the eyes of all here,' said Aragorn loudly, raising his hands high in the air in an ancient gesture.  'With the power in me as the King Elessar, I name the Lord Faramir and the Lady Éowyn man and wife for now and forever.'

And then they exchanged gilt-silver wrings inlaid with the precious jewels of Gondorian and Rohan treasuries, and kissed before the people of Minas Tirith and the Mark.  Mithmír had never seen two people as happy as her brother and his shield-maiden on that day; the glorious sunlight, music and flowers thrown into the air could not rival the beauty in their joyous faces; and the passion in the wedding-house that night was tender and sweet with love.

***

Aaaaw they're so sweet!  Faramir may not be the best-looking man, even in the book, but he's a nice guy.  Hope you enjoyed it and please review!


	5. Farewell

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE WONDERFUL REVIEWS!   All of you guys are so incredible [big grin] :)  Reading back over the last chapter (chapter 4), I can now completely agree with one point: I am going to have a problem making Legolas and Mithmír's marriage (if it does happen) better than that!

This chapter takes place a little after the last: Mithmír and Legolas are departing from Edoras in Rohan (where they came for the funeral of Théoden) with the Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn, Lord Elrond and their party of elves, the hobbits, Gimli, and Aragorn.  Many however are to stay behind in the fair halls of Edoras: Arwen, Éowyn, Éomer and, to Mithmír's dismay, Faramir; who would not leave the lady Éowyn so soon after their marriage.  In the chapter, Mithmír is taking her leave of Faramir, not forever, but for all too long.

Hope you enjoy it and please review!

***

Mithmír and Faramir had wordlessly met at the stables early that morning; and neither commented on the other's tear-stained face.  They had saddled their horses quickly, with all the ease of a life-time riding, and then galloped away from Edoras.  All the while not a single word passed between them.

When they were well out of sight from the halls of the town, sheltered among the pinnacles of rock and heath-land, they slowed the paces of their horses as one, and began to turn the beasts' heads in the wide circle which should eventually bring them back to the capital of the Mark.  It was a windy, overcast day, rare in late summer, but due to become all the more common soon enough as autumn gripped Middle Earth.  Mithmír was already dressed in her traveling-clothes: old, comfortable boots well-worn and broken into the hardships of a ranger's life; a tunic of green and brown that, though it had seen better days, was warm and well-fitting; and a long hooded cloak of grey.  Her bow and quiver were strapped to her stead's saddle, as was _Celebdîn _(both in easy reach, as she had made sure) and her daggers were at her belt as usual; they being the only things small enough not to get in the way when she rode – her bow could also be worn on her back, but she found it uncomfortable.  She and the brown stallion blended into the rugged landscape almost perfectly; and indeed her beloved Brialvastor moved as nimbly as a mountain-goat over the rough terrain.  She had the hood of the cloak down, despite the harsh and biting wind which made her cheeks flush red; and her dark hair, neatly plaited at the sides as was now normal, was whipped out violently by the wind.  She turned her head to Faramir slowly, as if afraid by what she might see.

'It's not goodbye for long, Faramir, nín gwador [_my brother_]' she said softly, trying to smile but finding that her facial muscles seemed to be frozen by the cold.  She knew Faramir, who had been taught by Gandalf in his youth, was learned and knew enough of the Sindarin tongue to understand much more complex phrases than a few words; but she found that he replied quicker and easier in Common.

'It shall feel like many ages, however,' he said, turning his emotional eyes to her.  'Time always goes slower when you are not near me; not near enough to see each day, if we so wish.'

Mithmír stroked Brialvastor's neck thoughtfully, his familiar feel the only thing that seemed never to change in her life.  'When I return, Faramir, it shall be forever.  We shall live so close…!'

'No, Mithmír, it shall not be forever,' he said grimly.  She looked up at him, puzzled, and he continued, 'for you are a wild thing indeed: you shall always have the wanderlust in you, however elven you become: you shall always feel the need to simply ride away from time to time.'  He smiled almost sadly, with a slowness that did not fit him.  'You shall always come back, but nevertheless I must miss you.  I need a sister, as well as a wife.'

Mithmír managed a laugh.  It bounced off the rock-faces and was grasped by the wind, which flung it away into the dell to their left.  'Yes, Faramir, I still have the flame-spirit in me, but I shall always come back to you.'

'We shall lose each other in the end, though,' he said in a dull, empty voice.  Mithmír was shocked: she had not even considered that Faramir might think as much on her new status as an immortal as she did.  She didn't reply, her hands gripping Brialvastor's mane tighter, so much so that the blood fled from her knuckles, leaving them white.  'You shall follow your beloved elf over the Sea to the Timeless Halls, and I must pass over a different horizon, to a place of which no tales speak,' he said; and it was as close to _jealousy _as Mithmír had ever heard in the gentle man.  'Éowyn shall come the same way, of course, as shall our descendants.  Through all the generations of our family, Mithmír, our kin shall never be joined in friendship again.'  He half-laughed, half-chocked, and his mare put her ears back as she picked up on her rider's emotions.  'Don't think that I don't love Éowyn: she is dearest of all to me.  But Mithmír…' he nudged his horse beside Brialvastor, and reached over to take Mithmír's hand in his own.  'I shall miss you so much…'

She was horrified to see a tear fall onto his jacket.  Spontaneously she took her feet from the stirrups, said a few Elvish words to Brialvastor (telling him to return to Edoras), and then swung herself over onto Faramir's horse.  Reflexively he moved back as far as he could, letting her settle before him on the saddle.  Silently, but with the utmost gratefulness for her kind, almost childishly innocent gesture, he wrapped his arms about her battle-toughened body; and she lay back in his arms, sideways in the saddle, curling up into his embrace, laying her head on his shoulder.

'Mín nîn godant,' she whispered lovingly, feeling inexplicably safe in his strong hold: _our tears fall together_.  She then said louder, in the Common tongue, 'I shall miss you also, Faramir, more than words can say…'  Absently she fiddled with the collar of his jacket, and wondered how things would have been if she had responded to Faramir's advances that night in Ithilien…  _Would I have left you for Legolas?  Or would we have each pretended to be happy for the other, trying to hold together our breaking hearts as we pined over our true loves?  _She was glad things were the way they were, with them as brother and sister.  She knew it was the right way for them to be.  'You are a part of me, my brother, and when my mother is gone –' she held back a sob – 'you shall be all that remains of my family.  I _love _you Faramir; you were the first man that I truly loved; and if it were not for Legolas and Éowyn we could have been husband and wife in great happiness.'

'I know,' he said, nuzzling his head down onto hers and kissing her forehead softly.  'But they are here, and we are brother and sister; and I regret it not.  You were wise indeed to say that I should find a woman better for me – as a wife – than you.'

'I grieve that we must part, Faramir; and I fear what waits for me beyond the Sea; but I must go.  I am an Elf, was destined to be so.  I cannot remain in the middle of two cultures forever – though granted, I shall always have the spirit of Men inside me.  We have many decades more together on Middle Earth yet!  And we _shall_ meet again, at the very, absolute End when all peoples shall meet one final time before Ilúvatar.  I swear I shall never forget you, nín gwador [_my brother_], and my descendants –' she tried not to think of the implications of that word – 'will always treasure the memory and tales of Faramir the Brave, Steward of Gondor, and brother of Mithmír Rochiwen.'  She smiled bravely, and turned her head back to kiss his chin.  In the distance she could see the city of Edoras fast approaching, even at the horse's walking pace.  It emphasized how little time she had left to voice all the words in her heart.  'And you shall never be merely a _memory_ to me, Faramir.  Somehow a bit of your spirit is in mine, and a bit of mine is in you.  We are always together.'

'They should call you Mithmír the Silver-tongued!'  Exclaimed Faramir, kissing her again lovingly; hope rising in his heart, and his optimistic nature overriding his grief.

'I merely speak the truth,' she said simply.  'No more, and no less.  We must part finally, Faramir, but do not think of that yet.  Think of how happy we are _now_.'

'I love you, my dearest sister-elf,' he said gruffly, a single tear falling to wet her hair.

'And I you, Faramir,' she replied softly, closing her eyes tight, trying to sear this memory into her very soul so it might last for all eternity.  'It shall never _really_ be goodbye between us.'

***

I have gone and depressed myself again.  I seem to be incapable of writing without doing that.  If it's not this story, it's another one!  On the subject of other stories, I have a collection of tales of Mithmír's youth.  I'm considering putting them up all as different stories, because the only ones which are finished are the ones chronologically later than most others, i.e. in her teenage years.  So here's a question for you readers: does it bother you if I put them up in a very random order?

Please review!


	6. NON STORY COMMENT: NEW STORY UP

I have finally put up a story on Mithmír's past!  It is called "**Elven Dúnedain**"; please go and have a look and review!  Sorry there'll be no update on this story tonight, but I got carried away on the other one…  Don't worry it won't happen again; I enjoy "Rivers" too much.

Thanks and enjoy!

-- Annaicuru


	7. Family Truths

Thanks for reviewing this story and "**Elven Dúnedain**".  I will try to write more of both of these stories.  Glad to hear you like them so much!

Please read, enjoy and review.

***

And so the parting of Faramir and Mithmír was bitter indeed that morning in Edoras.  When they returned from their ride all the others were assembled in the stables, awaiting them.  Kindly Aragorn had bidden them to ask no questions of the two friends; and Mithmír was grateful of it.  She dismounted easily from Faramir's mare, and went over to where Legolas stood by Brialvastor.  She smiled weakly at him.  'Good morning, Legolas,' she said plainly before swinging herself up into the saddle.  Legolas nimbly mounted his horse, Arod, whom he had been given by the Riders of Rohan and had grown incredibly close to.   He then drew Gimli up after him; and the dwarf looked fearfully at the ground, which must – Mithmír reflected – have seemed a long way away to a short, stocky dwarf.

'It's lucky you're such a horseman, elf,' he grumbled to Legolas, 'or Gimli should be walking home!  Are you _sure _this… thing is safe to sit on?'

'I shall lead you into no danger, friend,' replied Legolas with laughter in his voice.  He smiled at Mithmír, who in return grinned knowingly.  'But if you rode with Mithmír Rochiwen the danger should be less still, for even her name proclaims her as the most skilled of riders.'

Gimli "humphed" grumpily, but not kindly.  'I am sure she rides well, but _she _is a _she_, and no Elf or Ranger I'll ride behind unless I must.'  He grinned at her cheekily.

Legolas had not the time for a shocked reply before Mithmír laughed aloud.  'Master dwarf,' she chortled in mirth finally, 'stay riding behind Legolas Greenleaf, for he is no doubt better company for you than I.  I should not wish to carry another behind me anyhow – a great burden _anyone _should be to me, if I were forced to carry them beside me always.  Rather you ride with Legolas, thy close friend, am I may talk with you freely and at want, and so grow in the liking of you.'

'You are the bold, blunt one!'  Guffawed Gimli, before nearly falling over backwards as they began from the stables.  He righted himself quickly, holding firmly to the slim elven body before him, and muttering grumpily.

Legolas sharp blue eyes met with his lady's for barely a second as they rode out into the sunlight, but his lips managed to pass on enough words: 'would that _your_ arms were about me, fairest of ladies'.  Mithmír blushed and looked away, only to see a thing that was so sad as to make her nearly weep.

Faramir, her brother, stood on the steps before the doors of Meduseld, one arm about his dearest Éowyn, the other raised in farewell.  His face was creased in great sadness, and his eyes spoke of the sorrow to which there was no remedy in Middle Earth: the grief of being parted from those you love the most.

***

'Tell me about your family, Legolas,' asked Mithmír.  They had been riding for only a few hours of their two-day trek, and already she had settled into the familiar rhythm of life in the saddle.  She had grown up to a fairly nomadic existence; and found this journey far easier than any of the hobbits or Gimli the dwarf.  The air was fresh, and she did not dislike autumn weather; and she was in the mood for talking.

Legolas looked at her askance, and wondered whether she could accept what he must now say.  She may not mind his close relationship with Gimli; but would she tolerate another…?  Legolas desired no other, man or woman, than her; but he was incredibly close to a few, and wanted no more than for her to accept that.

'My father is Thranduil, King of Mirkwood,' he replied in a voice as light as the wind, as bright as the sunlight and as flowing as Ulmo's waters.  'And my mother is a green-elf, called _Tincuil _by my people, which means "sparkling life".  It suits her well,' he smiled at Mithmír.  'She is a vibrant woman, still as full of life as the forests.  We wood-elves and Sindarin elves do not tire in soul as quickly as the Noldor; who have seen the light and ever pine for it.

'She is young by the measure of my people,' he continued, picturing her beloved face in his mind.  'Her hair is pale gold, almost white, and falls like a waterfall down her back, full way to her waist.  Her eyes are a bright green, unlike mine, the purest colour of high-spring leaves such as fell in Greenwood the Great in the days of old.'  Greenwood the Great was the old name of Mirkwood, and Mithmír knew this.  She nodded, intensely interested in her love's past and kin.  'Her skin is barely tinged by the sun; her features clearly chiseled, perfectly shaped, and make her appear as delicate and lovely as all Elves are.  But you should not be fooled by that and her age: her wisdom and maturity are as great and as deep as the roots of old trees.  Her laugh is the sound of water, her smile the opening of a _niphredil _flower at dawn.'  He grinned at Mithmír.  'I love my naneth[_mother_],' he said unashamedly, shrugging.  'She is wonderful indeed to me, for she gave me life first and gives me love still and always.'

'I envy your relationship with her,' Mithmír replied in a choked voice, narrowing her eyes to look up and judge how far the sun was across the sky so she didn't have to look at him.  'My mother, Lómwing, is a wonderful woman; but I fear that I never took the time to get to know her; and now I regret it for that time shall never be here.'

'I'm sorry,' Legolas said softly, trying to catch her eye.

'Please go on,' continued Mithmír.  'Do you have any brothers or sisters?'

'Yes,' Legolas answered.  Here was the part he had been dreading.  'I have one older brother, called _Calenhir_, which is "green lord".  He looks not too different from I, but his face is bolder and more passionate in all emotions, and his eyes as green as our mother's.'  Legolas smiled brightly.  The thought of his brother was dear to him.  'He is adventurous and funny, outgoing and lively.  He is playful and a good friend always.  I am very close to him indeed, and he is always there for me, as I am always there for him.  We have been apart for too long; ever since I left for the Council of Elrond.'

'You speak of him as if you fear for me to hear of him,' said Mithmír questioningly, arching one eyebrow.  'What do you think I will mind about it?  He is your brother.  You obviously love him dearly; but you are an affectionate soul – don't I know it –' she winked 'and it's natural to feel for your brother.'

'I fear that when you meet him,' admitted Legolas, 'you shall be shocked by just how close we are.'  He waved away her questions, and Gimli shouted for him to _hold on to the thing!  _'No more than is natural, maybe, but we show it more than most.'  He blushed a little.  'Some Men find it odd to see two brothers embracing.'

Mithmír almost laughed out loud.  'Do you think your relationship with your _brother _will bother _me_?'  She chuckled.  'You worry too much, Legolas Greenleaf.  You may be as close to this Calenhir as you wish, and I shall not mind.  I shall not be jealous to see you embrace your brother or give him a chaste kiss on the cheek in greeting, I am not that unreasonable.  Would that I had a sibling to be so close to; but...'  She said no more, and had Legolas been close to her he would have seen a terrible shadow of pain pass over her eyes.

'Are you sure?'  He asked.  'You shall tell me if it makes you uncomfortable, of course?'  His heart rose.  Most Men and even a few Elves found the close relationship between the two brothers disconcerting.  They seemed unable to picture a purely platonic relationship between the brothers Calenhir and Legolas: if they embraced or chose to be together more than most siblings did, there must be more than a brotherly relationship going on, or so outsiders reasoned.  He was so glad that Mithmír seemed to be free of those untrue prejudices…

'Of _course _it won't, nín meleth [_my love_],' said Mithmír.  _Honestly_, she thought, _he worries far too much about how I see things_.  'I don't see how it could bother anyone, let alone me.  I love you and you may be as close to Calenhir as you want to –and I, for one, won't stop you or mind.'  She laughed.  'I'm amazed that you think I _could_.  No offence meant, Legolas, but it is a silly thing to worry about.'

His fears abated, Legolas smiled happily.  'Then I shall cease to worry,' he said gratefully.  'You are so accepting, Mithmír.  You cannot know how thankful I am…'

'There is nothing to thank me for,' said Mithmír plainly, her tone intending to suggest a change in subject.  'Now then, tell me of your home in Mirkwood…'

'Gladly!'

***

More is told of Legolas and Calenhir later.  They are _very _close as you will see, but the love between them is nothing more than an incredibly strong brotherly bond.  I also intend to write a short story on Mithmír's early family life; in which her pain to talk on her own lack of siblings is explained.

Hope you enjoyed it and please review!


	8. A Narrow Escape

Another chapter of "**Elven Dúnedain**" is up, so go and have a read!  _This_ chapter is mostly just Legomance (any surprise there???!!!).  It's sweet and fluffy, but nothing really happens; or at least nothing that isn't emotional.  Please review and above all else ENJOY!

***

'I'm loath to let you go,' he murmured in her ear, warm breath tickling her skin.

Her dark eyes scanned the doorway, watching for any unaware person to come hence.  They were in a small back-room – used for storing food, and she could feel the baskets behind her to prove it –, as chosen by Legolas; partially because of its seclusion and also because of the pervading darkness, not too deep for an Elf's eyes, but a Man could barely see.  'Legolas,' she whispered in reply, uncomfortably aware of the fact that her voice echoed around the stone room, 'Gimli will be waiting…'

Legolas held her tighter, stopping her wriggling attempt at escape.  'I told Gimli I had business to attend to,' he replied, his voice odd in the dark, powerful in the anonymity that the lack of light bestowed.  'Which I do.  He won't expect me for at least fifteen minutes…'

'Fifteen?'  She asked, bemused, tossing back her head so she could see his eyes.  'What do you plan to _do _for fifteen minutes, Legolas Greenleaf?'

'Istale,' he replied softly, dipping his head down to kiss her collarbone lovingly.  _You know_.

'Legolas!'  She cried, shocked, and shoved him away.  'Gimli wants to leave as soon as possible, and I _won't _detain you.'

'What if I decide to detain _you_, Mithmír?'  He asked in a voice that was leaves being tossed around on an autumn breeze.  The door slammed, cutting out the only rays of light from the corridor.  Mithmír was still half-human, even if pronounced immortal, and she was instantly plunged into darkness so absolute that she was completely blind.  'Legolas!'  She half-accused, half-beseeched.

He tried to hide his laughter, and took a long strip of cloth from his pocket.  His bright blue eyes saw through the darkness as if it were only the most insubstantial of veils.  He moved up to where she stood bewildered, and with a flourish whipped the blindfold around her head, and tied it quickly.  Mithmír shrieked once, and tried to put her hands to her face, but he grasped them.  'Legolas?'  She asked, a tinge of fear entering her otherwise laughing voice.  'Legolas, what are you doing?'

'Alnad,' _nothing_, he said boldly, drawing her hands behind her back and tying them firmly together with a length of twine.  He had come well-prepared to this little rendezvous.

'Legolas, what are you doing?'  She asked again, testing the bonds and finding they were incredibly fast.  She was helpless; and after being a Ranger all her life it was a feeling that made her distinctly uncomfortable.

'Alnad, nín meleth,' _nothing, my love, _he said softly, moving around so he was in front of her.  'Alpedo!'  _Do not speak!  _He held her arms in gentle hands and carefully guided her backwards until her back was full against a wall and she was in no danger of falling, or tripping, over.  Then, with baited breath, he put one arm on either side of her against the wall, effectively penning her in, and waited for her angry outbreak – he had no doubt that she, as a fighter, had developed a good sense of any movement close to her; and he guessed that she should dislike being hemmed in so.

Mithmír's breathing thickened and quickened audibly.  She felt adrenaline course through her – there was something incredibly exciting and attractive about being alone with him in the dark…  She didn't feel threatened by the situation at all, which surprised her.  Instead she pursed her lips slightly, completely aware that Legolas would be able to see; delighted at the feeling of power it gave her.

He did, and acted too, pressing his own mouth against hers.  He licked her lips slowly, with the incredible grace of his kin.  'Edro,' he said huskily against her closed mouth.  _Open._

She pulled her head away from his, narrowly missing hitting her head on the wall because of her blindness.  'Caro enni,' she dared cheekily in his general direction.  _Make me_.

'Ah gell,' he replied, happy that she was obviously enjoying this as much as he was.  _With pleasure_.  He moved in front of her again and pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall.  He began to kiss her again, but this time slowly moving his hands to cup her face, fingers buried luxuriously in her loose hair.

She moaned suddenly, parting her lush lips slightly, and Legolas needed no more encouragement…

Aragorn walked briskly down the corridor, calling, 'Legolas?  Legolas, my friend, where are you?'  He had been searching for the Elf for nearly half-an-hour, and knew Gimli was angrily doing the same on the other side of the Hornburg, the cave system behind Helm's Deep.  The King found it hardly likely that the Prince would have wandered this far into the store area of the massive complex, but it seemed that he was nowhere else…

He had looked in all the rooms on this branching hallway; or so he thought; but on his way back he noticed a closed door that he hadn't perceived previously.  His normally impeccable memory told him that it was a plain storeroom, like any other around here, but he reasoned that he might as well look.

Calling out once more, 'Legolas?' he turned the handle and thrust the doors open and light cascaded into the room…

It was empty.

Legolas?'  Aragorn called out once more to make sure.  The silence alone replied, echoing in his ears.  He shrugged and moved away, closing the door after him.

As soon as it clicked shut, Mithmír and Legolas collapsed, laughing, into the centre of the room.  They had hidden behind the door when he came in; had been ever since Legolas heard his voice outside; and _very _narrowly missed being caught.

'I told you that you had to go,' laughed Mithmír breathlessly as Legolas nimbly undid her blindfold and wrist-ties.  She blinked rapidly at the change in illumination; though she still couldn't see properly.

'And you were right, as always,' agreed Legolas, pocketing the offending evidence.  'Your hair's all over the place…'  He ran his fingers through it till it resembled its normal volume.

'It was _you _who caused it to be that way!'  Accused Mithmír happily.  'Imagine if he had caught us…!'

The Elf opened the door, and the room was lighted again.  'I don't want to think about it,' grimaced Legolas.  'As my dear friend, I wouldn't mind him seeing, as we were only miphil [_kissing_], but as your _uncle_…' he shuddered, and gestured for her to pass out of the door before him.

'You're all flushed,' pointed out Mithmír honestly.  'Your are so sweet when your cheeks are all red…'

'Now that, nín meleth [_my love_], is _your_ fault,' he said with a chuckle, running the back of his hand over his face.  'Is it too noticeable, or should I wait awhile before I go back to Gimli?'  He almost sounded hopeful.

'No one else will notice,' she assured him.  'You had better hurry back.  Gimli will be angry.'

'Won't you come with me?'  He asked, eyes pleading.

'No!'  She said, pushing him forward.  'I have to stay away for a while, so we don't arrive together – we don't want them guessing.  It's one thing for them to know we are to marry,' the words made her grin ' but quite another for them to see any evidence of physical love, as of yet…'

'Alright,' he smiled, and kissed her chastely on the cheek.  'I love you, Mithmír.  And I'll miss you while I'm away seeing the Caves with Gimli.'

'It's only two days, you silly Elf!'  Chided Mithmír, though she couldn't help but be touched by his simple and yet thoughtful words.  'Off you go!  Don't keep a dwarf waiting – they're far too handy with an axe for that.'

Legolas laughed in agreement, and then set off at a run down the dim corridor.  In a second he had disappeared from her view.  The grey-stone was alone in the dark, musty corridor.  She slumped against a wall, and waited.

***

Hope you enjoyed that and please review.


	9. To Tell Of Emotions

This chapter is pretty self-explanatory.  Nothing much to say here.  Just read, review, enjoy.  The usual stuff.

***

Gimli didn't speak to Legolas until they were well away from the camp; and heading deep into the Hornburg cave-system.  As he was about to show Legolas, it was not merely a few caves behind Helm's Deep; but an architectural wonder from long ago.  The dwarf reached over and drew his gnarly hand along the smooth-cut stone, reveling at the sensations.  Legolas looked at him askance.  He knew dwarves rarely married, and only they themselves knew if they felt _love_; but it appeared to him that maybe – if it was so possible – they did not need it like the other peoples of Middle Earth.  The way Gimli touched the stone was as loving and respectful as the caress of any lover.  Legolas adored the woods and wild places, more than most elves because of his mother's wood-elf blood, but he did not know if his emotions could rival the dwarf's for the stone and deep places of the world.

'Hadhodrim, ti mîl sarn,' he recited to break the silence.  It was an old saying among elven-folk; and one well-merited, for it meant _dwarves, them that love stone_.

'What did you say, elf?'  Asked Gimli, turning fiercely on his dear friend.  'What did you say of the dwarves?'

'How do you know I spoke of dwarves, friend?'  Asked Legolas with a chuckle, smiling at his companion.

'I am no fool,' retorted Gimli angrily.  'The Elven tongue appeals to me not, but I know at least one word in it: _hadhodrim_, the name of my people.  And rarely is it that an Elf uses that name kindly.'

'Then I am the exception, friend,' said Legolas truthfully.  'I merely said that dwarves were the lovers of stone; even as elves are the lovers of stars.'

'Well,' said Gimli with a cough, 'that's true enough, I suppose.  You can be forgiven – for _that_.'

'Oh can I now!'  Laughed Legolas, springing forward so he could stand before the dwarf and walk agilely backwards.  'And what else am I _not _forgiven for?'

Gimli prodded him in the stomach with a stubby finger, worn from years circled around an axe-handle.  'Stop nancing about first, and _then _I'll tell you!'

'I don't _nance_, dwarf, and watch your words,' warned Legolas, suddenly alert and tense.  He could not help but be mildly angry: despite his intense love for his friend Gimli, their cultures were incredibly different and rarely on good terms.  They sometimes said things to each other that were not meant to hurt, and should have been but a joke; but offended in some deep way that was unforeseen.  It was then, they had agreed, that they must show the other just how offensive it had been.

'Sorry, my friend,' said Gimli, genuinely grieved.  'I meant not to anger you…'

'And you did not, _hadhod_ [dwarf],' replied Legolas genially, smiling again.  Gimli nodded gratefully, proving that he understood the Elvish word – if he did not like it, as was shown by the even more pronounced wrinkling of his nose.  'But I beg you,' he asked, peering with an intense, intelligent look at his friends deeply sunken eyes, 'tell me what I am not yet forgiven for?'

'You were late to leave this morning,' said Gimli; trying to sound annoyed and not let slip that he no longer really cared.  'Where were you?  It is unlike an Elf Prince to be unpunctual; let alone _you_, Legolas Greenleaf the Courteous.'

Legolas turned around and dropped his pace so he was walking on Gimli's right side again.  'I am sorry indeed for that, my good dwarven-friend,' he said in a soft, lilting voice that was deeply apologetic.  'I was caught unawares by some business that needed my attention momentarily…'

Gimli scowled up at him, not unkindly.  'The girl, ye mean?'

'She's a woman, not a girl!'  Burst out Legolas before he could stop himself.

'I shall take that,' said Gimli slowly and calculatingly, 'as a "yes".'

'Gimli, I wasn't choosing her over you.  It's just that I won't see her for a while…'  For once, the usual Legolas lost his elegant articulation, and struggled to find the right words.  'I had to say goodbye, and we had to be alone…'  He grasped Gimli's thick arm with delicate fingers, turning the dwarf to him.  'Gimli?  Do you understand?  I _love _her, and I had to see her before I went.  It doesn't mean I like you any less, my friend!  Please forgive me.'  His bright blue eyes showed wells of sorrow.  'I hate to have hurt you so…'

Gimli stared at him emotionlessly for a few seconds.

Suddenly Legolas felt strong, smith-working arms wrap around his waist, and the dwarf drew him into a brotherly embrace that must have looked patently ridiculous to any spectator.  'Of course I forgive ye, Elf!  How could I not?  I know how much she means to you; and I won't be the one to take your future wife-and-lady away from ye,' he said loudly; his voice choking on some unidentifiable emotion.  'As long as ye don't forget your friendship with Gimli the dwarf in your love for her, I shall give you all my blessing.'

Legolas bent down so he could hold the dwarf close in a more comfortable way.  'Of course, my friend,' he said happily, before letting go of the short form and standing up to his full height; still looking down in fondness.  Gimli was blushing, obviously embarrassed at his spontaneous display of affection.  He grumbled once or twice, and Legolas was forced to speak over him:

'I shall never, ever deny my dearest friend-love for you because of my feelings for Mithmír.'  He said solemnly.  'I swear this to you, Gimli.  I never thought I could like a dwarf…  But now I am proved wrong, by you.'

'And _you _have proved my views on elves wrong also,' said Gimili gruffly.  He disliked openly showing his emotions; and Legolas' easy statements of friendship and love put him off balance.  He did try, though.  'I shall never look at Elves in quite the same light.'

'Then we are even,' said Legolas, bursting into a joyful laugh.  'And may we ever be so, my friend!'

'I agree,' said Gimli in a rough voice; before breaking into a half-shout, 'can't you walk any _faster_, elf?  If you want to get to the best caves you'll need to walk at twice this speed!'

'Yes, master dwarf!' replied Legolas with a deep bow, and then began to jog into the darkness of the caves, taking the only torch with him.  'But you had better keep up if you want to be able to see your way to these caves that you are to show me!'


	10. Revelations And Meetings

This chapter is building up to a big revelation on Mithmír's past.  Hope you enjoy it and please review!

***

It was the first night after Legolas had left with Gimli to see the caves; and Mithmír was already lonely.  She had eaten dinner with Aragorn and the others in a great Hall, and after then she had declined a walk around Helm's Deep.  The Lady Galadriel chose to stay also, to Mithmír's surprise; leaving the two elven women alone while the others went walking.  Even the hobbits went; Pippin already _extremely _talkative – and lacking in coordination - after over-indulging on the fine dinner wines.

They sat in silence for a while, each still at their seat at the great trestle table.  It was Galadriel who spoke first, getting up slowly and coming to stand beside Mithmír's chair.  'Do you intend to stay here all night, Daughter of Elves and Men?'  She asked in her voice whose power echoed through the many ages of Time she had seen.  'Or would you rather come and walk with me on a different path from the others'?'

'I should come with you, Lady Galadriel,' replied Mithmír softly, suddenly unusually shy.  The awesome presence of such a high elf-queen was enough to make nearly anyone nervous; even a fellow elf and a Dúnedain.

'I am glad, maethor-neth [_young warrior_],' said the Lady with a smile.  She moved backwards so Mithmír could get up from her chair.

'After you, my Lady,' said Mithmír politely, motioning for Galadriel to go first.

The High Elf led the way from the Hall out of the Southern entrance; the opposite from the one that the others had taken a little while before.  The winding corridor twisted up through the rock and finally reached a single oaken door, its heavy bolts and shutters undone.  Mithmír wondered that it was so; for there were still roaming orcs about who should quickly find any unprotected entrance – even if it did, as she rightly guessed, open onto a well-guarded inner courtyard – and enter into the Hornburg.  It was explained, however, by a fair Elven voice who called out in Quenya, a tongue in which Mithmír was not adept but certainly sufficiently knowledgeable,

'_My Lady!  The fairest dawning, Galadriel!_'  And out from the shadows stepped a tall elf who had been guarding the doorway.  He was dark-haired and dressed in the garb most commonly found in Lothlorien: a white and grey tunic which flowed nearly full-length to his feet.  He was most definitely one of the High Elves; told by the light shown in his fair face.

Galadriel smiled and stopped walking.  'Suilannad, fen'tirith,' she replied in Sindarin, kindly indicating that this tongue should be used from now on.  _Greetings, gate-guard_.  She then turned to Mithmír.  'Mithmír, govad Tondfael.'  _Mithmír, meet Tondfael_.  'A Tondfael, fen'tirith, govad Mithmír.'  _Tondfael, gate-guard, meet Mithmír._

The tall elf turned his stately head towards Mithmír.  He looked at her somewhat oddly; a look in his dark eyes that she could not define.  Finally he bowed deeply, and then reached forward to take her hand.  He kissed it with velveteen lips; and she blushed; still unused to being shown such courtesy, even after Legolas' prolonged attentions.

'Suilad, Mithmír,' _hello, Mithmír, _he said in a bold voice, infinitely controlled and measured.

'Suilad,' _hello_, she replied more confidently than she felt.  There was something about this elf which was disturbingly familiar…  She felt there was something she should remember, but couldn't; and it was vitally yet important that she did.

Galadriel touched Mithmír's arm delicately but assuredly; while turning her head to the guard.  'Tondfael, togmín ed.'  _Tondfael, lead us outside_.

The High Elf bowed and turned to the door.  His movement revealed the longsword at his belt to Mithmír.  She could tell by the hilt alone that it was a wondrous weapon; very old and well-cared for.  The delicate carvings were intricate in the extreme and worked with thread of gold.  She wished to hold it; but did not feel comfortable asking for the honour.

He politely held the door open while Galadriel and Mithmír passed out before him.  Afterwards he closed it; the sound making a sharp "clang" in the clear night.  They entered into an open courtyard, hidden far behind the main structure of the protective walls of Helm's Deep.  It was paved and walled with stone; and lining the sides of the courtyard were arrays of well used weapons – halberds, swords and axes.  In the centre was a statue of a mounted fighter of the Mark; his horse rearing and striking out with both front hooves while the rider himself stabbed forward brutally with a short sword.  It was strangely moving to Mithmír; striking chords within her of herself and Brialvastor.

'I shall be blunt with you, Mithmír,' said Galadriel suddenly and in Common, turning to the young woman after a final, reverent glance at the stars, as elves often do when the they come under the night sky.  'There are things I need to talk to you about; things you need to know.  Your mother, Lómwing,' she said the name with unusual affection, 'has many secrets – as we all do.  I am not criticizing her, and do not think so.  But there are some things which she would have you know now you have come of age, and are soon to marry.'  She smiled compassionately.  'She wishes me to tell you; for she seems to think that I can tell you the full story better than she.'  Then the Lady Galadriel laughed out loud; and the sound was water falling onto purest crystal.  It lifted the heart of the other two; and Mithmír glanced at Tondfael only to find that he was looking intensely at her.  She turned away quickly.

'Yes, my Lady Galadriel?  You would tell me these things now, and with Tondfael here?'  She tried not to sound suspicious of the gate-guard; but she could little help it.  Her mother had always been quiet on her own past; even her own _age_; seeming to withdraw if asked about it.  Now Mithmír was being offered a chance to find out about her own heritage; and she was not sure what would be revealed.  She wanted the Lady Galadriel to confirm that it was alright for a complete stranger to hear _before_ she began talking.

'I trust Tondfael with everything, and so shall you before this talk is over,' said Galadriel wisely.  'He must be here for this, for he is of the utmost importance in this.'

'I am,'  Asked Tondfael, alert in the extreme.  He looked at Mithmír kindly; and smiled.  'Pray, Lady Galadriel, tell us of this young woman's heritage!  The name of Lómwing is well-known and loved by me – and if this young woman is akin to that fair elf whom I have been separated from far too long, then I would know it now.'

Mithmír, her curiosity aroused, turned from Tondfael to Galadriel.  Her eyes begged for explanation.

Galadriel smiled; looking infinitely wise.  'Are you sure you wish to know, Mithmír?  Knowledge can be disturbing and shatter your dreams.'

'I am,' said Mithmír bravely, with surety in her voice.  She would not deny herself knowledge of her mother's past.  Maybe it would help her understand Lómwing; and the intriguing elf Tondfael…

Galadriel looked at her almost sadly.  'Then I shall tell you…'

***

Hope you enjoyed it!  All will be explained in the next chapter.  Please review!


	11. Tales Of The High Guards

Hehehehe that got a few people a little annoyed…  I'm not sure just how much scandal there is here; but there might be a bit – not in this chapter but as a result of what Mithmír learns in it.  I am not 100% sure on my details on the early history of the Eldar; so if you spot any mistakes please tell me and I'll try to fix it/them.  Just to warn you, some dates I changed a little for the purpose of the story.

Sorry there are so many names in this chapter.  I have included a list of the major characters – not including Tondfael, Mithmír, and Galadriel – at the end, so if you get stuck look there.  I also apologize if you find it a bit hard to follow – I didn't, but then I wrote it :)

Hope you enjoy and please review.

***

And Galadriel began to speak; and her voice under the dark night sky was as emotive as to make the age-old scenes Mithmír had never witnessed spring readily to the shield-maiden's dark eyes.

'I am Galadriel, or so the Sindar call me, youngest child and only daughter of Finarfin, youngest son of Finwë, Lord of the Noldor.  The life-paths of my brothers - Finrod, Orodreth, Angrod and Aegnor – have long been sundered from my own; but they are a part of this story as much as you, I, or Tondfael; and you shall hear a little of them and the Old History in this tale of your heritage.

'From the first, even from when the First Elves decided to follow Oromë across the Sea to Valinor, the Fair Folk had an organized society.  The most-heard tales and songs may only tell of the highest families; but there were others who were equally, if not more, courageous and strong.  Your mother's people were of this kind.  Lómwing herself was born in Valinor, shortly after the Awakening - in the reckoning of Elves, that is.  She was near thirty-two years my junior.  Her family were well-known and close to mine: my grandfather, Finwë, was a great friend of her grandfather, who was named _Gwainferedir_, which is the "new hunter".  Many tales of those early days tell of Finwë and Gwainferedir hunting as brothers in the virgin woods of that sacred place.  They were close in age and indeed close in kin; for Gwainferedir and all his people were Noldor Elves; and the people of Finwë.

'It is said that one day, after Oromë had made himself known to the Eldar but before they chose to remove to Valinor, Gwainferedir and Finwë chose to go on an especially long wander.  They had no wish to hunt that day; but merely to enjoy the sun and the fair weather that ever prevailed then in Middle Earth, before the woes of Melkor were full-wrought; and the kins of Elves and those who eventually were tortured to become Orcs were still the same.'

Mithmír shuddered at the mention of the close kinship between the foul servants of Morgoth (and later Sauron) and the Fair Folk.  It disgusted her to think of it, but at the same time filled her with pity.  To think that Elves could ever be tortured and mutilated so…

Galadriel noted the shudder and smiled sadly.  Tondfael shivered also, his tall, slim form making the movement as lithe and sinuous as a snake uncoiling.

Galadriel looked at the stars silently for a second, before continuing.  'They traveled far, and finally came to the other side of the Cuiviénen.  There they halted at last, and decided to swim.  The water was clear and cool, and refreshing to their lithe bodies.

'Gwainferedir was the stronger swimmer of the pair, and he decided to swim out deep into the water.  He moved fast and well through the glittering liquid, and it is said that he called out in Quenya to Finwë, "_Finwë my liege-lord and friend!  Come into the deeper water; or would you bathe in the shallows like a water-bird?_"  Finwë heard the friendly challenge and his pride was awoken.  "_I come, my friend!_'  He replied, and began to swim out.

'The rest of the tale is unclear; and my grandfather told it to few, and they forgot it quickly; but it seems that Gwainferedir got into trouble while he dived deeply.  I can only guess that there was weed at the bottom and he became tangled in it; but whatever happened the Elf did not return to the surface as he should have.

'Finwë could not dive as deep or as easy as his friend; but he would face the unknown rather than let Gwainferedir die so.  He went under the water boldly; and only returned to the air when he had freed Gwainferedir from wherever he had been trapped.  The elf-Lord was gasping for air, and had very nearly drowned himself.  Gwainferedir was unconscious, and breath came not from his lips.

'Finwë swum with his friend to the shore; and whence there he breathed air into him and so revived him.  Gwainferedir's thankfulness cannot be measured in words; and it seemed that is was then that he swore to Finwë a renowned vow: "_my life is now bound to yours, my Lord and savior, and I would gladly give it up for you to repay this great thing you have done for me.  From now on I stand by your side as your guard, if you will, and ever be ready to save you and yours from any harm._"

'And Finwë, touched by his fair friend's words, replied, "_I would not have my close companion be bound to me as a servant.  Walk still free, dark haired Gwainferedir.  This small deed I have done can be repaid in other ways than service._"

'But Gwainferedir knelt before his Lord, and insisted that he did this thing as a free man, and he was no servant, but merely a loving and grateful elf.  And Finwë then at last agreed to this, and named Gwainferedir the _Aratirith _of himself and his family, the "high guard".'

Galadriel paused there and smiled.  The look of wonder on Mithmír's face was touching to behold; but Galadriel knew she could not yet have grasped the full implications of this vow.  She continued.

'And so it was for many years.  But then Gwainferedir married one of the kindred that was called the Vanyar, and her name was _Nenrandír_, the "water pilgrim", a merry wanderer who loved the lake of Cuiviénen dearly.  There was a great love between the _Aratirith_ and his lady, and within a year was born their first child, a girl who was named Cuilantwen, "life's gift".

'Now, it came to be that soon most of the Elves began journeying to Valinor; starting with their long trek to the Sea.  The young Cuilantwen – who now had two brothers, Lhindtirn and Thindheneb – undertook the journey with her parents; and, as Gwainferedir was now guard to that family, Finwë and his folk.  In that time she grew close to Finarfin above all others; and indeed he was like an older brother to her always.  Fëanor she found slightly haughty, or so she told others; and Fingolfin – though kind – always seemed too grown-up and controlled in his thoughts and actions – though this was not always true in later days.  Finarfin was playful and affectionate; he would spin her in his strong arms and make her laugh till tears flew from her eyes.

'There are indeed many tales I could tell you of that journey,' smiled Galadriel, 'but I shall not, for there is not time now, and these stories must bow to those of greater importance.  Time is hastily slipping away, for soon we must return to the others.  Instead I shall continue with this tale:

'Eventually the Elves arrived in Valinor; and there found peace unbounded.  Soon indeed it seemed when Cuilantwen came of age, and then also came a great revelation.  Her father Gwainferedir still acted as the _Aratirith_, the High Guard, to Finwë; and upon the day when they rejoiced for her new status as a fully grown she-elf, Cuilantwen knelt before Finwë and begged to join her father as an _Aratirith_, in her case for Finarfin in particular, her close friend.

'She was granted this honour; though many were surprised as well as proud and pleased.  Cuilantwen had always been adventurous and slightly wild; but to chose the life of a guardian warrior… that was a brave thing indeed.  Finarfin was touched; and tried to deny her; but she – and to her surprise Finwë himself – insisted.  Cuilantwen became _Aratirith_ to Finarfin; bound to protect him with her life from any harm; his final line of defense as well as closest friend.  So the fate of the line of Gwainferedir was decided: to be _Aratirith_ to the high house of Finwë; for then and forever.  It was a noble calling, and well suited to them.

'It was so that in a few years Lhindtirn became _Aratirith _to Fingolfin; and later Thindheneb to Indis; second wife of Finwë.  No more children did come of Gwainferedir and his young wife; and it was not mere coincidence that none of their three offspring swore their lives to my uncle Fëanor; for none of that line of _Aratirith_ ever felt close kinship with that most powerful of Noldor, or would swear their body and soul to protect his.'

There Galadriel paused again.  Mithmír looked over to Tondfael again; and was surprised to see rain-like tears in his deep eyes.  He looked at her without shame, and one fell down over his cheek.

'I remember these times well, and with joy,' he said softly, and then to the Lady Galadriel, 'continue, my Lady, as your own _Aratirith _begs you to.'

Before Mithmír could make an exclamation of shock – _Tondfael is an Aratirith as my mother's kindred were?  **Galadriel's **Aratirith?! _– Galadriel continued, her voice not made any harsher by the long time talking as a mortal's would.

'And eventually Cuilantwen the she-elf _Aratirith_ married a Noldor elf, Padasûl, and they had five children.'  She laughed aloud, the sound cutting through the air like a dreadful, pretty knife.  'I still speak longer than I should, so I shall cut a long story short again, Mithmír: there are only two who directly concern you; Bainuilos, the youngest son, and the second eldest child, Lómwing.'

Tondfael cut in then: Mithmír noticed he had stood up, and the way he inclined his head towards the door made her turn her own head that way.  It was open, and there stood a servant, obviously here to summon them.  'We have no more time for talking tonight, Mithmír.  We may talk more tomorrow, if Lady Galadriel wishes it.'

'I shall talk tomorrow with you,' said Galadriel plainly, and then Mithmír felt the disconcerting voice of the Lady of the Waters in her head: _and I shall speak to your dreams tonight, Elven Dúnedain.  By tomorrow you shall already know all of your heritage – and Fondael's._

Mithmír felt frustrated.  'Won't you at least tell me _why _Bainuilos is important to me?'  She asked, in a half-shout, losing control of her emotions embarrassingly.  'You have told me much, and yet nothing I can link to _me_.'

Tondfael spun around.  'Do you not understand, lady Mithmír?'  He asked in a cold politeness.  The woman he had sworn to protect for all his time alive, which being an Elf could be always, was potentially being put down verbally; and he stepped in immediately to halt the action.

She shook her head, feeling like a child.

'Then Lómwing's blood was not strengthened by a mortal man's,' he said almost in scorn.  'Maybe you deserve not to know.  Maybe you are not strong enough to take your rightful place as an _Aratirith _as your ancestors did.'  They stood, bristling with anger, for a long while.  He dropped his head finally, and when he raised it his eyes were sorrowful.  'I am sorry,' he said softly.  'Forgive me.  My words were fueled by unfair anger and I regret them.'

'I forgive you,' she said haltingly, almost too shocked to speak.  _Her?  Simple Mithmír Rochiwen?  An Aratirith?  As her _mother _had been?  _She could not picture Lómwing wielding a sword.  But then, she still had much to learn on just how much Lómwing had sacrificed to be with a Dúnedain.  'But,' she said finally, just before he left, 'why are _you _an _Aratirith_, a – _the _– guard of Galadriel?'

He turned to her, and smiled a little.  'Because I am Tondfael, eldest son of Bainuilos, younger brother of Lómwing the Fell-Handed, _Aratirith _of the house of Finwë.'  He turned away again, and the second before he entered the darkness inside called out in a clear voice, 'and so a cousin to Mithmír, daughter of my aunt, and future _Aratirith_, if she proves strong enough.'

She went to sleep quickly that night, despite the myriads of questions plaguing her; and then she dreamed as Galadriel had promised…

***

v **_Gwainferedir_**_: _great-grandfather of Mithmír; Noldor Elf, _Aratirith _of Finwë

v **_Finwë_**_: _Lord of the Noldor

v **_Nenrandír_**_: _wife of Gwainferedir, great-grandmother of Mithmír

v **_Fingolfin_**_: _second-eldest son of Finwë

v **_Finarfin_**_: _youngest son of Finwë

v **_Fëanor_**_: _eldest son of Finwë

v **_Cuilantwen_**_: _eldest child of Gwainferedir, _Aratirith _of Finarfin, mother of Lómwing

v **_Lhindtirn _**_and** Thindheneb**:_ younger brothers of Cuilantwen

v **_Padasûl: _**husband of Cuilantwen**__**

v **_Lómwing: _**er… you know this… Mithmír's mother.**__**

v **_Bainuilos: _**Father of Tondfael, brother of Lómwing**__**

As you can guess, in the next chapter you find more out about a) Lómwing's sacrifices, b) Tondfael in general, c) the implications of being an _Aratirith_, and d) Mithmír's place in all of this.  Hoped you enjoyed it and please review!

It all becomes clear soon.  I hope.  Bear with me.  IT WILL BE GOOD.


	12. Dreams Of Decisions

I have bad news…  Tomorrow I am leaving on holiday and will not be back till **next Friday**.  Unfortunately I won't be able to post any chapters of any stories at that time.  On the Friday I am back I should be able to post a chapter, though, and if not on the next Saturday.  I am really going to miss writing about Mithmír!

If you want to I can **e-mail **you when I put up the next chapter, when I return home.  Just review this chapter and tell me if that's what you want.  If not, just come back on Friday to read more!

So anyway, apologies, apologies.

This chapter explains the _Aratirith _as I said it would.  Not all of the related _Aratirith _stuff – some I am considering putting in a short story, if I ever get around o it (blush) - , but _most _of it.  For the rest… if I leave it on a minor cliffhanger you'll be more likely to come back and read more later (**PLEASE DO**).

Enjoy and review!

***

She dreamed that she was back in Lothlorien.  The wood was empty; however; its beautiful singers all gone.  The shadows under the mallorn trees were forlorn and almost ominous.  Mithmír felt an overwhelming loneliness.

'They are all gone,' said a beautiful voice from behind her.  She spun around came face to face with the Lady Galadriel.  The Lady was dressed all in silver; and on her finger Nenya glowed brighter than ever with the beloved star's light.  Her face looked younger, with no lines worrying it, but her eyes were full of strife and sorrow.

'Where?'  Asked Mithmír in a whisper.

'Their hearts have moved over the Sea;' Galadriel replied in a grave voice, her eyes locking Mithmír's into a rigid stare; forcing rivers of meaning to flow between them.  'And those that stay… they have decided to assume Men's doom; and their souls can no longer converse with the mallorn and niphredil as they once did.'

'Oh,' replied Mithmír lamely.  The sense of helplessness and sorrow that overwhelmed her was incredible, too strong for words.  She suddenly truly understood the final departing of the Elves from Middle Earth.  Her mother's sacrifice struck her more keenly than ever.

'And she sacrificed more than you yet understand,' Galadriel said clearly.  Mithmír jumped, shocked that her thoughts had been effortlessly read.  'Your mind is even more open to me when you dream than in real life,' Galadriel smiled.  'Nenya's powers are most mighty when you are at rest.'

'Tell me what she sacrificed,' pleaded Mithmír.  'Tell me of the Aratirith.'

'I shall tell you,' agreed Galadriel with a stately nod.  'And show you.  Relax, and look into the water…'

Mithmír followed the pointing slim finger, and noticed a white basin in the centre of the dell.  At the Lady's direction she climbed the steps that stood to one side, and then peered in…

The water was a perfect mirror, as still as the night sky, showing stars and trees in its immeasurable depths.  Mithmír was entranced, and leaned closer…

The water seemed to swallow her up, and she began to drown in it; her mind sinking into the clear liquid while her body stayed motionless above it, one single strand of dark hair nearly dipping into the water.  She did not struggle, but let herself go, trying to relax as the Lady Galadriel had said she should.

When the pool stopped swirling about her, she was looking over a pretty scene: a wood-land archery range.  The grass was sprinkled liberally with niphredil; and all of the living things seemed _younger _and purer somehow.  An unearthly light bathed the clearing.  Mithmír instantly felt at peace.

'You are now in Valinor,' said Galadriel's disembodied voice from all around her.  'It is the time of Lómwing's youth,' she continued.  'She is presently training to take her place as an _Aratirith _like all of her mother's family.  It is assumed that she will become High Guard of one of Finarfin's children.  This was indeed the case.'

Mithmír was about to ask just _who _her mother Lómwing became _Aratirith _to, but she was interrupted.  A fully-grown male elf entered the clearing, followed by two youth-elves: a young woman and a younger man.  Mithmír could not help but recognize the woman: tall and stately, with dark-blonde hair and unusually expressive eyes.  It was her _mother _as she had never seen her before: with a fire in her gaze, a spring in her step; and a bow carried with easy familiarity in her hand.

'Watch,' Galadriel's ethereal voice bade her as softly as the wind.  'Watch the daily training of an _Aratirith_.  See just how strong they have to be, how strong you too are, the strength that flows in your veins…'

The mature elf took his place to the side of the other two, who each chose a target and began to ready for shooting.  'Lómwing, stand taller,' he ordered in Quenya not unkindly.  'And you, Bainuilos, if you don't want your sister to overtake your total you'll have to position your feet better than _that_.'

'Yes, father,' replied the two siblings – for so they were – obediently; winking at each other.  It was obvious that they were incredibly close.

Lómwing loosed the feather-tipped, perfectly balanced arrow.  It buried itself deep into the centre of the target.  She lowered the bow – which Mithmír realized in shock was the very one that she had bequeathed to her daughter mere days before, the slender _Cúarien_.  She wondered at how high a gift she had been given.  She had always known the bow was of high origins and good craft; but to hear that it came from the West itself…

'Beat that, my brother!'  Challenged Lómwing joyfully.

Bainuilos, who carried more than a passing resemblance to his future eldest son, Fondael, chuckled.  'I shall, my sister Lómwing!'  His shot was exactly equal to his sister's.  They laughed when they saw the outcome, and embraced spontaneously.

Mithmír wanted to see more, but the scene began to swirl, and soon there was only water moving about her.  'Show me more!'  She begged the bodiless voice of Lady Galadriel.

'I will,' replied Galadriel.

And so Mithmír saw many more scenes of like kind: her mother training from her early youth in the arts of fighting with both bows and arrows.  She was also trained on life in the wilderness; and of the history and culture of the Fair Folk, her kin.  It was a grueling training, but intensely rewarding; and she became incredibly close to those who trained with her; most noticeably her youngest brother, Bainuilos.

The image that stuck most in her mind, however, was of Lómwing's final lesson on the life of an Aratirith before she swore her vows and was joined to one of Finwë's kin for all the Ages of Arda, if so Ilúvatar wished it.

The elf who she now recognized as Cuilantwen – Mithmír's grandmother and Lómwing's mother – was sitting beside her daughter on the grass in one of the many gardens of that fairest of places.  They had been talking for a long while; and Mithmír appeared to only have arrived for the last part of the conversation.

'Lómwing, daughter,' said Cuilantwen in a surprisingly deep and resonant voice, clasping her child's hand in her own, 'it is a great thing that you will swear to do tomorrow.  The life of an _Aratirith _is far from easy; and most of its hardships cannot be understood until you are tested in them.  Your mind must always be just as quick as your body; and your spirit true.  At some time in your life you shall probably be asked to make a decision on the spot: to save your life, or to sacrifice your life for the one you guard.  What decision should you make?'

'To save the one I guard, of course,' replied Mithmír stoutly.  'Their life is not above mine; for we are both free folk; but to me their life is more precious.'

'You are brave, Lómwing,' said Cuilantwen lovingly.  'The fate of an _Aratirith _is right for you, or so I deem, and I have good reason to be able to judge these things.

'You have been trained for many decades in the arts of war, and protection of yourself and your Lord or Lady,' she continued, her eyes becoming unfocused.  'You shall either rise to the challenge, or fall at its knees, and that shall be the death of you.  From tomorrow, your own life – and that of any other – shall always be second to Galadriel's.'  Mithmír gasped – wasn't Tondfael Galadriel's _Aratirith_? – but there was no time to question the statement.  She was merely watching something that had been, and she could not halt the past's progress.  The conversation continued as if she had never made a noise.  'You are young.  You cannot understand the difficulties of this yet, Lómwing.  But I may try to explain: Galadriel must be to you over _everyone _else.  You are not required to love her more than other – I love your father more than I love Finarfin – but if I had to chose between which one must die, I should have to save Finarfin and doom my love.'

'I can do that,' replied Lómwing, youth's certainty making her bold.  'Galadriel shall be all my life to me.'

The scene faded.  Mithmír jumped: she was back over the mirror, still dreaming, but no longer seeing the past.

'Your mother kept that vow for a long while, and with all the strength in her bold spirit,' said Galadriel calmly, her eyes boring into the young woman.  'She loved me more than any other; and protected me as only a close friend can.  But then she learnt that her love for a Dúnedain was great enough to keep her from her duty as an _Aratirith_; and that she feared not to face death as long as he stood by her.  She left my side then; and Tondfael took her place.  We do not blame her: we are _happy _for her.  She acted as her heart declared; and it was the only righteous path in the eyes of Elbereth.  Mithmír,' she said in a frightening voice, full of power, 'you are well trained enough to become an _Aratirith_.  But we shall not force you; and you shall lose no honour if you refuse.  You must decide…  If you become an _Aratirith_, you should still be able to live with Legolas, Thranduil's son, and bear his children if you so wish; but you must reply to any call of your Lord – for so it shall be if you agree.'

'Who is my Lord to be, if I accept, Lady?'

'The very man who has married into the family of Finwë but a month ago: King Aragorn, your uncle.'

Mithmír gulped dryly, but did not reply.

Galadriel looked at her sadly and with compassion.  'By tomorrow I must have your answer.  To be an _Aratirith _is a noble calling, and the hereditary one of your family, and it suits you.  You shall enter into a great kindred of all the _Aratirith, _including Fondael, and may still be a Dúnedain.  But if you become one, until Aragorn's death whence you are released from your vows, you must be prepared to give your life – and your love's – for his.'

The words echoed in Mithmír's head: _decide, decide, decide…  _But how could she decide between her duty – which she had to admit she liked the sound of, especially becoming closer to her long-sundered family – and her love?  One answer sprang quickly to her tongue, but maybe, maybe she could find a way to get both…

And then the dream was gone, and Mithmír awoke, face wet with tears of indecision.  

***

Hope you enjoyed and please review!  Don't worry the resolution is good for both sides.  :)  But not in ways you might expect…


	13. Talks With The King

I am finally back!  Whew!  Thanks for all the reviews left for all 3 of the stories.  They're greatly appreciated.

I am now relaxed and full of ideas…  I can't type quick enough!  There's more "bad" news though: I go away again on **Tuesday**, but I will try to put up _at least _one chapter a day till then.  I am back on the next Tuesday, I think it's the 15th.  There is a tiny, tiny, tiny, tiny chance that I might be able to post during that time – but it's very unlikely, so don't count on it.  Again, tell me if you want me to **e-mail **you when I post again after that.

I agree with the point someone made that she needs to consult Legolas; but he's away and won't return for two days, and Galadriel needs an answer a.s.a.p…  Mithmír needs an idea, and fast.

Enjoy & Review!

***

Mithmír arose early, and dressed in a frantic rush – undergarments, leggings and tunic were on in a matter of minutes.  She was too busy to brush her hair properly; so she merely ran a course brush through it once and tied it up with a ribbon – Legolas objected to her using lengths of string, as she had been accustomed to, saying that _your_ _beautiful hair deserves better, nín meleth_.  She smiled at the memory.

'Aurmaer, Legolas,' she said in a joyous whisper, her reflection beaming back at her from the glass.  _Good morning, Legolas_.  Then she ran from the room, banging the door after her.

She made her way through the empty, stone corridors of Helm's Deep at a quick jog, her heavily-booted feet scuffing the floor.  Legolas hated the unnecessary sound it made; she remembered with a slight glimmer of a smile.  She missed him more than she would openly admit, and he was only due back tomorrow…

She bumped into the hobbit without warning.  He nearly fell over, but being quick on his feet – at least _that _hadn't changed in Frodo Baggins – caught himself just in time.  His hand flew to his sword, _Sting_, which hung by his side; and an angry fire roared in his eyes.

'Forgive me, master Frodo!'  Apologized Mithmír, embarrassed at her carelessness, and yet also shocked.  Something had changed deeply and irreversibly in the Ringbearer after his ordeal.  His eyes showed pain and guilt unmatchable, the cheery twinkle that used to light those brown lamps now rarely showed; and his smile was slow to raise.  It distressed her greatly to see him so.  When he was in the company of others he obviously made a great effort to behave normally; but she could sense the great unease in him; and the tormenting memories which gnawed away at his soul.

'Nay, Lady, forgive me,' said Frodo, quickly putting his right hand in the pocket which once had held the Ring, over his breast.  'I was paying no attention…'  He drew his free hand, the left, over his brow.  Mithmír was reminded of his missing finger.

'Nonsense, master Frodo,' she said with a kindly smile, laying a hand on his shoulder.  It appeared to him then that she was taller, and stood more erect; and he was then persuaded that she was, body and soul, one of the Fair Folk whom he had so envied.  She was a thing of great power and wisdom; her eyes glittering like deep brown jewels under water; and her voice full of compassion.  'You are merely tired, or so I think.  What makes you wander so early in the morning?'

'I am restless,' he said dreamily, and then grinned at her, suddenly, looking abashed.  'And Sam – dear, loving Sam – well, he deserves more sleep.  If I stay in my room awake I shall make some noise, and Samwise shall wake and rush in to calm me.'  He shrugged.  'It is better for both of us if I wander alone for a while, and clear my mind for the coming day.  Sam is tired, even though he' Mithmír fancied she heard a slight stress on the pronoun 'is healed, and therefore he needs sleep.'

'I understand,' she said in a friendly way.  _Where is the merry hobbit who wandered with me in Ithilien?  _She wondered sadly, beginning to see that the Ring had caused deaths in not only body but spirit, too.  _What power snatched him from his place and people on Middle Earth?  _'I have to find King Aragorn – and I will wake him up, if I must.  I _need _to talk to him.'

'Then let me not stop you from doing so,' smiled Frodo politely.  His face, though more drawn and care-creased than before, was still well-made and attractive – even Mithmír noticed that, from her somewhat more elevated height.  He obviously wanted to be on his own; Mithmír recognized; and it was probably good for him.  The words of others could hold little meaning after he had experienced that terrible horror that still haunted his features: to succumb to the evil of the Ring, at the time when he was needed most.  Mithmír understood it, in a flash of revelation, and smiled before taking a smooth bow.

'Thank you, Frodo.  I shall see you at breakfast?'  It was neither a question nor a statement.

Frodo nodded slightly, and attempted a smile.

It was as devoid of light as any Mithmír had ever seen.  Maybe the greatest terrors, she realized, could be inside of you.

She knocked on the heavy oaken door of Aragorn's kingly room loudly.  No other rooms were overly close to his; and there was no danger of waking any others.  'Aragorn?  I need to talk to you.'

There was a groan from inside, a thump, and then a torrent of swearing in Common.  It seemed that the King had fallen from his bed.  Mithmír suppressed a giggle – Aragorn had never been very good at mornings; and it should not surprise her if he had stayed up all night talking to the Elf-Lord Celeborn.

The door opened a minute or two later; to show a rather disheveled and worse-for-wear Aragorn, dressed in a hastily-chosen tunic, blinking in the bright light.  His eyes focused on her wearily.

'Mithmír?'  He said hoarsely.  'Mithmír, what're you _doing _here so early?'  Her tugged his tunic a little so it looked more presentable, and ran a rough hand over his stubble-covered chin.

'I need to speak to you,' she said boldly.  'Either I come _in_, or you come _out _with me.  It's up to you.  We _have _to talk, whatever happens, and before the Lady Galadriel is up.'  She smiled at him brightly; her light expression completely contrasting to her imperative tone.

He groaned, and held open the door wider.  'Come in, then.  Ignore the mess.'

Mithmír stepped past him.  The room was indeed messy: shoes, cloths, armor and sheathed weapons scattered over the floor as if the owner had got into bed in a fatigued hurry the night before.  It resembled her own, she realized with a grin, and sat down on a wooden chair in the corner.

Aragorn moved over to the curtains and swept them open, closing his eyes against the sun that rushed in.  Aragorn's room boasted spectacular views out over the plains, and it was one of the few that did.  Mithmír's own showed mostly an inner courtyard, depressingly grey in colour, with only a glimpse of the outer world.  He flopped down on the bed, stifling a yawn.

'What time did youget to sleep, uncle?'  She asked innocently.

'Too late,' he said, acknowledging her sly judgment with a slight grin.  'I was talking with Celeborn… he has much to say, indeed.'  He ran a hand through his hair.  'And I drank too much, by the aching of my head.  The Elves, not surprisingly, touched nothing; and will be considerably better-off than me this morning.'

'The Elves do not suffer fatigue as easily as Men,' stated Mithmír simply, before continuing, 'I didn't come to talk to you about your bedtime, milui ada-nost [_beloved kin of my father_].'

'Then please continue,' he said, ducking his head in a bow and getting up slowly.  'I must shave and dress.  I will be in the bathroom next door – I will still be able to hear anything you say.'

She watched him go, irked that he seemed to not understand the gravity of what she wanted to say.

'Do you know of the _Aratirith_?'  She asked bluntly over the noise of a running tap.

'Yes,' he replied simply, his voice echoing in the tiled room.  'Arwen Undómiel told me of them.  You want to be one, now Galadriel has told you of them?'  Neither of the speakers were ones for beating about the bush, and their conversation was frank and to- the-point.  Despite this he couldn't hide his slight apprehension of _her_, his niece, protecting him with his life…

Mithmír watched drifts of smoke claw their way out of the room.  'I don't know…  That's why I want to talk to you, Aragorn.  You can help me decide.'

The trust in her voice touched him.  He halted shaving for a second to reply.  'Well here I am.  What bothers you about it?'  It sounded stupid to him even the second that it left his lips.  Arwen had told him about the responsibilities of the _Aratirith_, and there were many things he could see therein to intimidate even the most stalwart of warriors.

'I _want _to serve you so, Aragorn my King,' she said truthfully but with hesitation, as if trying to formulate her thoughts.  'The role of _Aratirith_ appeals to me, just as being a ranger did.  I feel… I feel…' she absently picked up a boot and fiddled with it.  'I feel like it runs in my blood.  Though it's odd,' she said with a slight twitch of her lips, 'to picture my _mother _fighting, let alone earning the name Fell-handed…'

'I'm sure it is in your blood,' agreed Aragorn, letting the water drain out of the basin.  'Arwen told me little of your mother, saying it had to be Lómwing herself and not I who told you of her deeds, but apparently the title "the Fell-handed" was well-earned, and Lómwing was a name greatly respected in all Elven kingdoms.'

'I will have to speak to her, then,' said Mithmír in a deliberate voice.  'My family are full of surprises.'  She absently took a clean shirt off the hook by her head and handed it to the pointing hand that had snaked around the doorway.

'Thanks,' Aragorn said in a muffled voice as he pulled it over his head.  It had mildly occurred to him that it would be seen as suspicious for him to have his young – and incredibly sensual and sexually attractive (if not overly pretty), for so she had become in her womanhood – niece in his room at this early hour; but he brushed the thought away.  They were close; and even if all others had ideas, the truth was innocent.

'_But_,' said Mithmír in sudden exasperation, getting up to walk agitatedly around the room, 'I don't know if I can do it, fulfill all of the requirements.  _I _would die for you, Aragorn, my beloved liege-lord.  But…' she paused, and her eyes became unfocused.  'To let Legolas die…  That I could not do,' she finished in a whisper.

Aragorn stepped soundlessly from the bathroom.  He came up behind her and wrapped strong arms about her slim and short form.  Mithmír had a large spirit but a rather short physical body.  'I do not ask it of you, Mithmír.  You are too young for this; too young to be tied down by such oaths.'

'Courage and honour are not fruits of age alone,' she said dryly.

'Wisdom is,' he replied with a chuckle in his voice.  'I am honored to have you offer your own life for mine, Mithmír.  I ask for no more; for I have already received more than I am due.'

'I _want _to do it, Aragorn!'  She said, louder than she had intended.  Aragorn let go of his niece and took a step back.  She continued in a more controlled voice, turning to face him, her eyes wide.  'I _want _to do it, I _want _to become one of the _Aratirith_.  Not only for the thing itself, the honour and adventure involved in it, but I will become part of a bigger family – the kin of the _Aratirith_, one of the most select of orders.'

He perceived her yearning for a people to truly call her own, and felt pity for the proud woman.  For all her formative years she had been balanced precariously on the middle of two peoples, and she still felt the resulting lack of placement, keener than she let show to most people.  'I see,' he said, with a grave nod.  'Well, Mithmír, if it is really what you want I cannot stop you: I am one of the kin of Finwë, having married into that kin, and you are one of the kin of Gwainferedir, and an _Aratirith _in blood and spirit; and we cannot be separated.'  He stooped to kiss her cheek tenderly.  'You shall make a wonderful High Guard, Mithmír, and I am more blessed by the offer of your sword to protect me than you can ever comprehend.

'I shall talk to Galadriel,' he continued, pulling on his boots.  'We shall arrange a way around this thing…  A way that when you make your vows, it shall be made clear that you shall always value your family above me.'  He bowed his head so she couldn't see his grateful tears.  He had always known Mithmír had an unusual measure of courage, but to have her offer her young life as a shield for his… that nearly overwhelmed him.  'Are you _sure_, Mithmír?'  He said finally, almost wanting to change her mind.  'I cannot ultimately make your decision, but I ask you to consider it fully before you reply.  It is a large choice to make, for anyone.'

'I will do it,' she said decisively.  'But would that I could talk to Legolas before you tell Galadriel of my answer… I am worried that he shall be angry at me for swearing my life to another.'

'You will only swear to protect me with _your _life, and I would that it were not even that,' said Aragorn gravely, opening the door and ushering her out.  'Legolas, and your children if there be any – may there be – shall never be endangered for my sake.'

'All the same…' she said nervously.

'Mithmír,' said Aragorn, looking unwaveringly at her, 'Legolas wants what _you _want.  He loves you.  He should be proud of you to make this decision; immeasurably proud.'

She knew it was true.  'Then it shall be so,' she said with a slight, hesitant smile.  'I will follow my wish and become a conditional _Aratirith_.'

Aragorn beamed, and followed her out.  They made for the dining room.

Despite her outwardly calm appearance; Mithmír was troubled inside.  The talking had reminded her of Aragorn's mortality, a thing which had bothered her for all her life, and even more so now.  She did not want to lose another that she loved… and she could not protect him from that final Doom of Men.  She also worried for Legolas' opinion; though she need not have, and she knew it.

There was one final thing that preyed on her mind: Aragorn's words: _Legolas, and your children if there be any – may there be_.  Her eyes glinted, unseen by her emotionally overwhelmed uncle, with a confusion that rarely rested there.  Her worry of being a mother still bothered her; and though she knew Legolas must know, she harbored the irrational fear that he should cease to love her for her fear.

'I will tell him,' she whispered finally to herself.  'I will tell him.'

***

Hope you enjoyed and please review!


	14. The First Lesson Of Tondfael

Enjoy, review, more will be up tomorrow or tonight.

***

They had been talking to Galadriel for barely a few minutes; but it seemed she shared their penchant for little pointless chatter, and the conversation was flowing quickly.  They were in a room which, though once yet _another _armory, was now used as a living-room; for talking and gathering.

'Of course, that can be arranged if Aragorn and yourself will it so,' smiled Galadriel elegantly, continuing in the same infinitely powerful – but slightly sorrowful – voice.  'As long as your _Aratirith _Lord agrees, your _Aratirith _vows can be tailored in most ways.  It is… unconventional, but has been done before; and recently it is done more and more again, for the Elves are leaving…'  She sighed, and turned her eyes to Mithmír.  'I begin to wonder, now: the Elves are going off to the West, and the line of Gwainferedir and the _Aratirith _will too return to Valinor.  So shall the house of Finwë, taking their High Guards with them.  A very few shall remain, their _Aratirith _staying also; and they shall dwindle in might.  And they shall bear no children to continue the line, or so the waters tell me.'  Her bright eyes pierced Mithmír's very soul, making her shiver.  'But the line of Aragorn and Arwen, Rulers of Gondor, shall remain on Middle Earth as mortals.  They shall need _Aratirith _guards.  That means some _Aratirith _must have children who are willing to stay on Middle Earth and guard the Kings of Gondor…'  She stopped, and said no more, but the implication was clear.

'My thanks, Lady Galadriel,' said Mithmír with a polite and grateful nod.  'I have something else to ask you also, however…'

'Please do,' said Galadriel calmly.  She looked fleetingly at her husband, who smiled at her lovingly.  Celeborn and his Lady were close indeed, and their parting – which should occur all too soon – weighed heavily on them.  It was well-known that Galadriel was to sail over the Sea, and so return to her birthplace; while Lord Celeborn was to stay in Middle Earth and rule over the small band of Silvan Elves – those who had previously dwelled in Lothlorien – who also intended to stay.  It was speculated that he should, eventually, go over the Sea also, but he had refrained from saying whether it was true or no.

'What happened to the other _Aratirith_?  I am only descended from one of Gwainferedir's three children.  What of those other families?'

'Thindheneb, the younger brother of your ancestor Cuilantwen, remained in the West with the Lady he guarded.  The older, Lhindtirn, came to Middle Earth, however.  His kin still live now.  Where, you shall find out later; along with who they guard.  It is a different strain of Finwë's kin.  And that strain, along with their _Aratirith _guards, are failing…  Only the kin of Cuilantwen shall remain in Middle Earth, and even then not all of that family.'  Again, Galadriel looked at Mithmír in a way she was unable to understand.  'You shall meet them, later, or so I deem.'

Mithmír sensed that that was all the answer that was forthcoming.  She decided to leave it at that, and be grateful for what she _did _have – permission to become an _Aratirith_.

'My thanks for you, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, are boundless,' she said with a smile.  'You shall tell Aragorn?'

'Yes,' replied Celeborn in his stately, unhurried voice.  'It would be better for you to use this time to talk to Galadriel's _Aratirith_, Tondfael.  There is much he must teach you, if you will be made High Guard to Aragorn any time soon.  He is outside, in the Main Courtyard.'

Mithmír bowed, thanked them again, and then left in a rush.

She found Tondfael in the Main Courtyard, as she had been told she was.  It was the largest open space in all of the inner fortress of Helm's deep, hewn deep into the rock but open to the day sky; which was being traversed by fleets of hasty rain-clouds, of the kind which threatened to drop their cargos and yet never did.  The male elf was standing, facing the sun, the wind twisting his dark hair like a river behind his head.  He was not wearing full armor, but the sword was by his side as usual.  Again, she felt the temptation to ask to touch it, but was too shy to do so.  Instead she made her way to him, quietly, toying with the idea of seeing if she could give him a surprise…

If she could have seen his face, she would have perceived the all-too-aware grin on his elegant features.  She was about to call out when the male elf spun around on one foot, stopping exactly before her, the wondrous sword drawn and pointing, lethally, at her throat.  She gulped, and stood still.

'It is not so easy to creep up upon an _Aratirith_,' murmured Tondfael with a good deal of self-satisfaction.  'We are more aware than normal fighters.'

Mithmír made her breathing harder; and tried to show the whites of her eyes as if terrified, while allowing them to scan the scene.  Her hands made slowly towards her sword-hilt, barely perceptible in their slowness…

As she had anticipated, Tondfael whipped his sword down from her neck to her hand, trying to halt it's course or knock the sword from her grasp.  While he was so preoccupied she took a roll to the side, standing up quickly a metre away.  She smirked at him triumphantly.

'There are some things they could be taught by the Dúnedain, obviously,' she said proudly.

To her surprise Tondfael resumed a neutral pose, sheathing his weapon – which she had not thought to examine closely while having the chance – with a clanging of metal.  He laughed boldly.  'You have all the spirit of your mother Lómwing!  And no doubt, there are things each kin might teach the other.'  He smiled at her then, and it was a kindly expression.  Mithmír couldn't help but smile back – he had her hair, she noticed, or at least the two shades were very similar.  Here was one who looked like her, a _cousin _of herself…  She finally had a family, a true family, an extended family.

'I will teach you, then,' he continued.  'You fight well, but you must learn to defend more – using your sword, since you can't use a shield with a two-handed weapon.  Your expertise with that sword makes up for that handicap, however, and you should pick up the new techniques easily.'

Despite herself, Mithmír blushed.  He was surprisingly complimentary, this cousin.

'After that,' he went on, 'there's only your vows to learn, and the finer points of being an _Aratirith _to go over.  You'll do it easily, and in time for next spring.'  He smiled again, and took a step closer to her.  He was tall, she noticed, and walked in the graceful gait of all good gymnasts and fighters.

'Your first lesson under Tondfael of the Lady Galadriel,' he said with a smile, drawing his sword again, 'is a duel to test your skill…'

Mithmír smiled and took _Celebdîn _from its sheath.  _This _was the kind of lesson she liked: hands-on and definitely active.  'If I impress you, cousin Tondfael,' she cried as they began to circle each other, 'may I have the honour of seeing your sword from close up?  It looks well-crafted indeed.'  They began to circle each other warily, looking for a gap in the other's guard.  Tondfael was impressed, though Mithmír couldn't tell, by her agility: it seemed to be little hampered by the exceptionally hefty weapon.  The sword did seem uncommonly well-balanced, however.

'Of course,' he said with a smile, feinting once or twice on nimble feet.  'If I may see yours, cousin Mithmír.'

She smiled at being called "cousin".  She only nodded however before swooping down suddenly upon him to jam their blades together, the impact sending shocks down both their arms.  In a second she was away again, dancing around him, eyes sparkling with adrenaline.  '_If _you beat me,' she said with a grin, cleaving _Celebdîn _through the air – not meaning to harm, merely to hit his shin-blades and throw him to the ground.  He dodged it, however.

'_If _I beat you,' he agreed.  'But you obviously revel in the fighting arts, even as I do, and this contest may last for a long while.  I was told by Lady Galadriel that we are evenly matched.'

'May it last all day!'  She said with a laugh, spinning around again to meet his blade with hers.  'I am a shield-maiden, a Dúnedain, a soon-to-be _Aratirith_, and I have the stamina to fight so long!'

'Good, for so do I,' he replied with a grin.  His cheeks were slightly flushed, as were hers, but they were in no way weary.  'But now let the battle-talk be over, Lady, and may our actions tell our meanings, and the clash of metal be the only voices!'

And then they began to fight with great spirit and strength.  To all who watched they appeared as but one being, one dancer, moving to one beautiful and deadly beat.  Silver blades brushed past dark hair, pale swords flashed in the sun.  But the outcome of the fight was greater than merely who was the winner: a great friendship was formed; and Mithmír was reunited with her Elven family whom she had so long been sundered from.

***

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	15. A Great Ordeal

I'm finally back!  Thanks for persevering for so long.  Updates should be once a day regularly now, as per usual.

Please review!

***

After her first "lesson" with Tondfael, which she lost by a little way to her embarrassment, they ate a quick lunch of some vegetable soup and then returned to the courtyard again for another teaching session.  The Dúnedain never saw her King during that time, and presumed – nearly correctly, as it turned out – that he was talking with Celeborn and Galadriel.  Mithmír was glad for the constant activity: it kept her mind from wandering to Legolas.  Tondfael had promised that she could see his sword when she managed to better him in a test, so there was a great incentive to try her hardest.

'Take off your gauntlets and shin-guards,' ordered Tondfael, stripping off his own.  'And do you have any other, lighter clothes you can wear?  That tunic looks quite heavy and you'll get very hot under the sun…'

'Unless you wish me to learn in my undergarments, Tondfael of Galadriel,' replied Mithmír with a chuckle, 'there is nothing I can do about it.'

Tondfael shrugged and took off his own shirt sinuously, his well-toned chest rippling as his muscles moved.  Here was one elf who was even more physically impressive than Legolas, Thranduil's son.  'Well if you get too hot,' he said in reply, 'there is nothing I can do for you but suggest you dip your head in a water-barrel.  That will cool you off.'  He winked.

'I shall follow your advice if I do get too hot,' agreed Mithmír, eyeing the water-barrel to her left as if sizing up the possibility.  'But what do I learn that shall be so hard?'

He looked at her with a cheeky twinkle in his eyes.  'It will be very trying for _you_, my lady.  I do not know whether you are strong enough to do it…'

'Try me!'  She said heatedly, desperate now to know of what her cousin spoke.

He moved to her side and took her sword from her.  The movement awakened deeply-ingrained reactions, and she had to bite her lip to stop herself attacking him with a reflex action.  She felt _naked _with her sword and daggers taken away; but managed to stand still.  Tondfael nodded encouragingly.

'Good.  You have to learn to _trust _others: namely other _Aratirith _and the one you guard.  Your faith in them must be absolute.'  He laid her weapons down on a low table reverently, careful not to cause them any harm.  'You must face this lesson with no armor and no weapons; with only your fists for protection – and those you cannot use.  There shall be no need to fight.'

Mithmír couldn't say she liked the sound of this test.  Her face must have showed her distaste.

'You have to pass this test,' he said simply, shrugging a little, the movement fluid.  'It is very important – you're too violent and rash now, that needs to be remedied before you can make your vows.'

'_Violent_?  _Rash_?'  She asked, with incredulity bordering on anger.  'I _used _to be, but that's changed over the last few years…  I'm pretty controlled now, compared to what I _used _to be!'  Her single, thick plait swayed erratically behind her head – Tondfael had persuaded her to tie her hair up, so it didn't get in the way.

He raised an eyebrow critically.  'And the way you're acting now?  That isn't overly _angry_, is it?'  He smiled at her in a way that was incredibly perceptive, but kind.

She lowered her eyes and nodded meekly.  She knew when she was beaten.  'Teach me, then.'

'I was even more headstrong than you, once, and I'm an _elf_,' he said with a friendly grin.  'So much for calm and collected.  Now, then:sit down, cross-legged,' he said softly.  She did as he asked.  The stone ground was smooth under her.  She shifted till she was comfortable, and then looked at him expectantly.  'Now then,' he said.  'It is one-thirty in the afternoon.  Your lesson in _patience _is this: you must sit still, and silent, till three-thirty.  That's two hours.  Consider yourself lucky – _I _had to do four, under my father's guidance.'

Mithmír was shocked to silence.  _Sitting still for two hours_?  The idea was ludicrous!  She had never been very good at not doing anything, at being silent.

'The only movement you can make – bar breathing and blinking – is to move your arms and legs around a little, once every quarter hour or so,' he said.  'What you _must not do_ is begin to do anything to occupy the time – fiddling with your fingers, getting up and running around, talking to anyone or anything like that.'

'_Why _do I need to know that skill?'  She asked, managing to find her voice.  Fighting she could deal with, but this was a completely different art, and one she had no finesse in.

'You have it better than _I _do,' he said in reply.  'Though I don't mind my lot at all.  You won't have to _live_ with Aragorn – only come if he calls you, go of your own accord on special occasions or at times of danger, and visit in a friendly manner at least once a month unless there's a specific reason why you can't.  I, however, am with the Lady Galadriel _always_.  Patience is essential.  If my Lady is in a meeting, I must stand – or sit, but that is rare – beside her, without drawing _any _attention to myself by fidgeting or making a sound.  And the councils of elves can be long indeed.

'The same applies to you, of course,' he continued with a grin.  'If you are accompanying King Aragorn to an important conference, you must also stay unobtrusively by him.  It is vital that you learn the skills needed for those long hours of silent stillness now.'

'But what will I _do_?'  Mithmír asked.  'I can't just do nothing.'

'I sing songs to myself – silently, of course, only in my head.  Or I imagine the people in front of me naked.'  He winked again.  'That always works for me.  Maybe that'll work for you, too.'

'That's hardly an elf-like thing to do!'  Exclaimed Mithmír in wonder, a laugh in her voice.  She couldn't imagine it of the serene, elegant race somehow.  The twins Elladan and Elrohir, her rather close friends, were nearly as cheeky, but they were different from this High Guard.  Talking of the twins, now she understood the other two elves – not of their kin – who stood near them always with long swords…

'I have barely passed my thousandth birthday, cousin Mithmír Rochiwen,' he explained.  'I am still a young man, barely older than a boy.  I am not quite a completely chaste elf yet.'

'Elves are never chaste, no matter how old they are,' replied Mithmír, thinking of Legolas.  Chaste was hardly a word that could be used to describe _him_, and he was a little over two-thousand years old.  The very thought made her head spin – such an age was nearly incomprehensible.

'True,' he said with a clear laugh.  'But now, be still.  I will go and only return in two hours – but if you break the rules, I shall know.'

She knew his words weren't empty.  Doubtless the charismatic elf had many hidden friends who would happily keep an eye on her silent ordeal in the courtyard.  She watched him wave and walk away, whistling infuriatingly.

There was no one to imagine naked.  And suddenly she couldn't remember any songs.

It was going to be a long, long afternoon.

***

That was a slightly random chapter.  Ah well.  Please review!


	16. Note

A new chapter of Elven Dúnedain is up.  Enjoy and please review!

--Annaicuru


	17. Sword's Story

Okay, a note to anyone who has _The Fellowship of the Ring _on video/DVD: I have just found the weirdest coincidence.  It might only be on the extended version, but I can't tell, so **go look anyway**.  I promise you, if you like the story here, it's good!  When the Fellowship first meet Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn in Lothlorien, you see the two Elves descending from some kind of dais.  Remaining at the top of the dais, one on each side, are **two other Elves **who look like Guards.  After writing this story, in my mind they will always be _Aratirith _guards: on the left is **Bainuilos**, Celeborn's _Aratirith _and, coincidentally, Tondfael's father and Mithmír's uncle; and on the right is **Tondfael **himself, Galadriel's _Aratirith_.  I know he has slightly lighter hair than the real Tondfael does, but hey, you can't have everything and it gives you a pretty decent idea of an _Aratirith_.  Anyway, go and check it out!  Subconsciously the director was working to my telepathic orders. :-) !!!

Anyway, enjoy, review, etc.  Legolas returns soon, don't worry, and then he and Mithmír have a very important little chat…

***

Three-thirty came, after two hours of pure torture.  It seemed to her like Tondfael had sent extra people to wander about her on purpose – and those "people" were eight guards, not yet fully-grown into their manhood, who began to train noisily about her.  The violence-fuelled cries, the clanging of metal on metal, made her itch all over.  She wanted to get up and join them, teach them how to _really _use a sword, and pass on some knowledge the Elves had given her and continued to do so; but she had resisted the urge and sat still.

Tondfael came up at her from behind.  He was tempted to jump out on her; but decided that should be too cruel.  He walked silently, and she had no idea that he was behind her.  Even his calm breathing was silent.  Tondfael looked at her with his dark eyes; and surprised himself by feeling pure love for this wonderful, _different _Elf.  The Fair Folk have always been renowned for their joy in the emotion of love, and their quickness to allow themselves to feel it; but in recent times they were normally too suspicious of the other races to live up to their reputation.  Tondfael reminded himself that he was close to her anyway – they _were _cousins, after all.  And this Mithmír Rochiwen was so much like Lómwing the Fell-handed…  He wondered if she had ever seen her mother handling her daggers and bow.  Well, if she hadn't, now she never would, he realized with a sigh.  Not only had Lómwing given the fabled bow _Cúarien _to her daughter; but her suicide was imminent.  It was in that moment that he decided to tell Mithmír all the stories he knew of her famous mother; for according to Aragorn – whom he had just spoken to – she knew nothing.

'Well done, Mithmír,' he said, placing a deceptively soft hand on her shoulder.  She jumped up; almost instantly bending over double to rub her calves as if in agony.

'Ow… Ow…'  She moaned.

Tondfael cocked his head, confused.  'What ails you?'  He sounded more Elf-like than ever now; infinitely immortal, innocently confused by a child of Man's pain.  Mithmír may have become immortal, but she still was plagued by many of Men's ills.

Mithmír straightened up uncertainly, wincing a little.  'Pins and needles,' she said with a weak grin.  'Don't Elves suffer from them?'

'What are these "pins and needles"?'  He asked in complete sincerity, eyes betraying a great mystification and interest in learning something new.

'If a Human stays still long enough, and then moves very quickly, they feel pains in their legs and feet like hundreds of tiny pins and needles – hence the name – sticking into them,' she explained.

'Is it curable?'  He asked in all earnestness, turning his head again.  Strands of dark hair rushed against his face.  He was certainly very attractive, Mithmír realized – but nothing to Prince Legolas in her eyes, she noted with a slight smile.  He was adorable, too, in his perplexity on this new revelation.  She shocked herself by using that word – _adorable_.  What was she becoming?!

'Yes, of course!'  She replied with a kind chuckle.  'They've gone already.  I'm fine.'

'I'm glad for that, lady Mithmír,' he grinned as if abashed.  'You learn something new every day.  And congratulations on this test – you passed with "flying colours" as Men say.'

She mock bowed, and then straightened up to meet her eyes with his.  A hopeful glimmer was lodged there, Tondfael, Lady Galadriel's _Aratirith_, noticed.  He suddenly became aware, as if blessed by his Lady's gift for seeing other's minds, what this shield-maiden wanted; and drew the sword beside him from it's sheath.

'As I promised, Mithmír,' he said graciously, while she gasped in awe and reached out to run her fingers along the blade reverently.  'This is _Cristeiliant_, the rainbow-forger, the sword that shall cleave the sky and make a trail of colour.'  He smiled.  'Or so it is said, though I am not powerful enough a wielder to let it reach it's full power.'

'This is a powerful weapon indeed,' said Mithmír in wonder, caressing the cold metal almost as if it were the warm skin of a lover.  'It was forged many ages ago…'

'In the very furnaces that formed the Elven Three,' nodded Tondfael with no hint of arrogance or boastfulness in his voice.  'So many years ago that a mind which has once been mortal cannot comprehend the time.'

'And the spells that have been cast to protect the bearer are still strong.'

'They should be, also,' he said with a smile.  'She who cast those magics counted them as the least of her skills, but they will last as long as the sword does, and protect me more than I feel I am worthy of.'

'Who was she?'  Mithmír looked up at Tondfael admiration.  'She must have been a High Elf…'

'Nay, Mithmír,' he said with a slight, sad smile as if lost in memory.  'Even higher than that.  She was a Maiar, and indeed a Queen also: she who cast those protections was Melian, wife of Thingol; who was and is even higher than my Lady Galadriel.'  He bowed his head as if in reverence.

'You were not alive in the time of Queen Melian, surely,' asked Mithmír, addressing him but eyeing only the weapon.

He sighed almost silently.  This lady seemed to have an unusual skill in finding out the truth quickly.  'I was not,' he said.  'But this is the sword which belongs to the _Aratirith _of Galadriel, and I was not the first.  It was to your mother that this sword, _Cristeiliant_, was given by Melian the Maia as a gift for past services...  She bore it braver than I in the protection of the Lady Galadriel, and when she left, passed it on to me.  I count myself blessed to carry the sword that once graced Lómwing's hand.'

Mithmír was silent for a while.  'Tell me about her,' she said finally.  'Tell me all about the woman I never really knew.'  And as Tondfael began to reply she gripped the blade so tightly that a thin cut was drawn along her palm, and the daughter's blood dropped onto the mother's beloved sword.

***

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	18. To Face Death With Courage

If you're not familiar with the stories in the Silmarillion, some aspects of this chapter will mean very little to you.  Don't worry.  All you need to know is that Lómwing=very good swordswoman and much more than her daughter previously thought.  The rest of it is just my chance to let _Rivers _put down some roots into the earliest Ages of Arda and draw in references to yet morewell-known characters.

Enjoy and please review!

***

Tondfael began.  He told her many stories; too many to be told here and now; and to every one Mithmír listened silently, entranced by the fantastic tales of her own _mother_.  She could not help but wonder why Lómwing hadn't told her of these adventures, of her accomplishments, and been as proud of them as she should have been.  She asked Tondfael the same, as he paused between one tale and the next.

'Lómwing always maintained that she left behind her life as an _Aratirith_ when she passed on her sword, and she needed to tell no one of it afterwards for it was no longer a part of her,' he said with a shrug.  'It was not true, and we her kin did not agree with her choice, but it was hers to make.'

'She kept her bow, however,' pointed out Mithmír.

'Right,' said Tondfael with a slow smile.  'Even Lómwing wouldn't give up _Cúarien_, a bow made on the land of the Blessed Shores,until she absolutely had to.  And don't try to say you're unworthy of her gift – you are highly deserving of the esteemed bow.'

Mithmír blushed furiously.  'Please go on,' she said politely.

Of all the many tales she stayed up well into the night listening to, with only the stars and moon as her fellow audience, three in particular caught her attention – two for pride, and one for sadness, and the message it portrayed of the true meaning of "my life for yours".  The first was the story of how Lómwing gained the name "Fell-handed", _deluforgam _in the Sindarin tongue.  It ran neatly into her other favourite tale, of how her mother was given _Cristeiliant_.  Both are recorded here.

Lómwing came with Galadriel from Valinor, and crossed with her the Grinding Ice, and braved many dangers to keep her Lady safe.  After many years of wandering aimlessly and living in the wild – where Lómwing's arrows and daggers first tasted orc-flesh, and her soul learnt the joy of killing evil – they came to the land of Doriath, and there Galadriel entered into the Kingdom of Thingol and Melian.  By then Lómwing had no love left for Fëanor and his sons, especially after the burning of the ships at Losgar, and she was perfectly happy when Galadriel chose to live within the Girdle of Melian, for none of that trouble-bringing elf's kin could enter as long as Melian remained.

Galadriel then needed little protection; and she began to desire time completely alone: mostly with the elf Celeborn, whom she had fallen in love with, and whom returned her affections whole-heartedly.  Lómwing, then, went to the borders of Doriath and there fought many battles against the evil things of Sauron with the Grey Elves around her.  It was in this way that her hunger for battle, the desire for the adrenaline rush of balancing her life on the tip of a sword, was assuaged.  She met those like-minded to her; and one of her great companions, for a time, was Beren, who later became husband of Lúthien.

She sometimes wandered further away, fighting beside the Elven Lords (and their _Aratirith_) in the Battles of Beleriand.  She was one of Fingon's fabled archers who stood against the greatest fire-drake of Morgoth, Glaurung the Terrible, when all others ran in terror; and with their skillful elven arrows her and her company made him flee back to Angband.  She fought, in her time, beside Finrod Felagund, Orodreth and Fingolfin.  But always she returned to Galadriel, who rested with her new-found Grey-elf love in the blessed, protected realm of the Maia, Melian.

She was already being called _deluforgam _[_fell-handed_] by then, but a final act of bravery secured her title: she saved the life of Lúthien when she was riding beyond the Girdle of Melian.  The fairest of maidens had gone out alone, despite all orders not to, desiring time to think apart from her family and friends – and, unusually, Beren.  She was out for merely two hours, and was nearly back within the boundary of her mother's control when a band of orcs and goblins ambushed her, cutting off the way.  Lómwing had been pursuing the same band for many hours, and caught up with them soon after, hearing a maiden's cries for help.  She killed the fourteen orcs and three goblins with only her daggers and wearing no armor, as she had supposed to only need to use her bow and never engage in close combat when she dressed that day.   She could not shoot from afar, however, for fear of hitting Lúthien, who was on all sides besieged, and loosing the fight despite her valiant defense with her slim sword.  And so Lómwing attacked.  The final orc nearly killed her, hitting her unprotected shoulder with a club: the blow was so hard her collarbone broke instantly and in many places.  The blow itself had been meant for the fallen Lúthien, but Lómwing had stood before her to take the damage herself.  The Light of the Trees was still clear in the _Aratirith_'s soul, luckily, and the High Elves were still at that time almost on the level of skill that the Maiar boast: therefore she did not swoon from the pain of the wound, but continued, in great pain, to fight, risking her own life many times, until the final orc was felled.  She then accompanied Lúthien back to her family, and only collapsed, seemingly lifeless, bleeding from many wounds, when she finally stood outside the Hall of the Maia; having successfully escorted her charge home.

She was healed in great honour by the attendants of Melian and Thingol until she reached full health.  She was then named an honorary inhabitant of Doriath, free to come and go there as she would, not only with her _Aratirith _mistress.  This was a great honour indeed, for the borders of Doriath were kept closely guarded; but then the gratitude of Lúthien's parents for their daughter's saving was boundless.  Lómwing would accept no gift; but one Melian insisted upon blessing her with.  Melian told Lómwing that she had ordered a wondrous sword to be forged for her – but it was only to be actually made when the strongest forges of all were finished: the forges of Eregion, which were as yet only hope in the minds of Elves and vague plans on paper.  Melian said that she had told the smith who would make the sword – who that smith was, Lómwing never found out – what inscriptions to engrave upon the blade; and these words, she promised Lómwing, would make _Cristeiliant _one of the most magical weapons ever created on Middle Earth.

Lómwing thanked the Maia, but did not wholly believe her promise – not trusting the Maia's sights of the future.  But in later days, long after Thingol had died, and Melian had departed Middle Earth, leaving her people unprotected for the first time in many years, a messenger came to Galadriel and Celeborn; who were now happily wed, with a girl-child, and ruled over the Golden Wood with wisdom and compassion.  This messenger passed a sheathed sword to the Lady Galadriel, and said,

'This sword is for she who saved the life of Lúthien; and it is sent by she who made a promise many years ago in the Guarded Kingdom.  It has finally been forged now the terms of the promise have been reached.'  And then the strange elf left as suddenly as he had come, and none could trace him.  Galadriel gave the sword to Lómwing, knowing whom the words had spoken of; and Lómwing praised the name of Melian ever after for the gift; bearing the weapon for all her time serving Galadriel with bravery and courage.

'She wielded it far better than I,' said Tondfael with reverence.  'She truly let the sword live up to its name, and forge the rainbows by splitting the sky.'

'You saw her fight?'  Asked Mithmír reverently.  She sat beside Tondfael, both leaning against the cold stone wall, still out in the courtyard though night had fallen many hours ago.  His arm was around her shoulder, draped firmly but loosely with all the elegance of his kind, and in the pale light the Elf beside her looked ancient indeed – though to any mortal Men watching, both would have appeared as old and wise as the other.

'When I was young.  But I shall never forget it.'

The final story had nothing to do with Lómwing; but Tondfael finished on it.  'It is another lesson,' he said sadly.  'A lesson on the sacrifice of the _Aratirith_; so you do not think all of our calling have the same wonderful life as your skilful mother, Lómwing the Fell-handed.  I should be leading you astray if I left you to think that as an _Aratirith _your life should automatically be as blessed as your mother's.'

_My life is blessed enough, _thought Mithmír, before settling down to listen.  Tondfael's voice was grave now, never joyous or proud, and his eyes glinted as if he nearly wept.

'It is a _very _short story, but that does not make it sweet.  Maybe it's shortness shall make you think on it all the more…' he turned clouded eyes to her.  'I shall try to tell it as simply as I can.

'My brother, Hebmîl, became _Aratirith _to Galadriel and Celeborn's daughter, Celebrían, when he was relatively young.  They grew up together; nigh on as brother and sister; for he was barely a decade older than her.  Though he was younger than me, he became an _Aratirith _before I did.  He was faithful to Celebrían all his life; and in his devotion to her never looked at another woman in love or otherwise.  He had no family, no sons or daughters in his beautiful likeness.'  Mithmír felt a great foreboding settle in her stomach.  She could guess what would happen, for Celebrían's fate was well-known to her.  'He looked after her children, Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen like an uncle, teaching them many things in the art of fighting.  He was with her, of course, when she was traveling with her entourage to visit her parents in Lothlorien.'  He paused for a second.  'When they were ambushed by the orcs, they were hideously outnumbered.  He was the last elf but her to remain alive, with many orcs still attacking.  He never wavered, Mithmír.  He never paused to consider if he was too young to die; or if he had lived his life to the full yet.  He knew he had.  He never paused to question his beliefs; but acted on them there and then.  He was a true _Aratirith_.  It took three arrows and many sword-cuts to make him fall, Mithmír.  And he fought to protect his Lady all that time, while his precious, young, elven blood was falling to the earth…'  Tears now tracked their silent way down the elf's ivory cheek unabashed.  'He fearlessly protected his hiril [_lady_] for as long as it took, until her sons came to her aid and saved her.  He kept the breath in his lungs until he saw her safe, and only then did he give up the futile, painful struggle and allow his spirit to depart in high honour to the Halls of Mandos.

'His body was taken by Elladan and Elrohir with their mother back to Rivendell.  I saw him when he lay in state there. The wounds all over his young body rendered him so different from the Hebmîl I knew and loved…  But on his face, on his face, Mithmír, there was a smile.  He was at peace.  He had fulfilled his purpose, and died for his beliefs and his Lady.'

He got up, leaving her sitting down, and met his dark eyes with her in a look so intense she could not break the contact.  'Even if you do not swear to sacrifice Legolas' life for Aragorn, Mithmír, you may still have to give your own – one way or another, in body or in soul.  Before you make those vows, think on the tale of Celebrían and Hebmîl for a while.  Could you do that, Mithmír?  Could you die for him as my brother did for his Lady?  Could you live and perish in such honour as he?  Do you really have the stuff of an _Aratirith _in you, that you may face death with courage and bravery, and that you may fight on through fear and tears though your heart is breaking?'

And then he walked away silently, leaving her alone in the silent, cold courtyard with the impassive stars staring down on her.

***

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	19. To Share A Heavy Load

The slightly shortened quote is from _Unfinished Tales _by Tolkien himself [bows down in awe and begins to worship].  I don't mean to cause any offence, break any laws etc. by using it.  Don't report me. :-)  It's probably one of my three favourite Tolkien quotes of all time, and pretty much sums up everything about Mithmír, especially when she's a mortal.

Enjoy, review!

***

'And how did you like it, elf?'  Asked Gimli, his voice gruff.  Legolas had thought that the voices of dwarves could only be as hard and unforgiving as the stone their owners worked; but in the last two days he had heard the true range of the dwarf's tones: awe-filled, loving, caring, condescending, playful, wise, friendly, trusting…  And so the list went on.  The elf knew, however, that Gimli would return to his usual outward appearance when they rejoined with the others: he was not comfortable showing his more vulnerable side to most folk.  Legolas was deeply flattered that the dwarf chose to show it to _him_, however fleeting the moments were.

'Even the Elves, word-masters of old, cannot find it in them to express the wonder of those caves, Gimli,' said Legolas with a soft smile typical of his kind.  'Only the light in the deep eyes of dwarves can show even a portion of that splendor.'

Gimli almost visibly swelled with pride.  'I _knew _you'd change your stubborn elven mind,' he said with a grin.  'Even the Tree Folk cannot see Aglarond [_the caves behind the Hornburg in Helm's Deep_]without falling in love with the deep places of Arda and their mystery.  Have you more respect now for the Dwarves and their "mines"?'  He chuckled at the name, which Legolas too now had to agree was in no way sufficient.

'I see now why the naugrim [_dwarves_] love jewels and darkness,' agreed Legolas.  'And yes, I respect your kind ever the more, Gimli the Dwarf.  I shall tell my Elven-kin only good tales of the dwarves.  It is a pity…' and he turned his cheekily-glinting eyes to the stocky figure who walked beside him, 'that none of them will believe me...'

'See them doubting your stories when they're faced with an axe!'  Retorted Gimli in anger.  Legolas laid a restraining hand on his good friend's well-muscled shoulder.

'Calm, friend.  I meant not to rouse you to such passion against my folk!  I said those words only in jest.'

Gimli growled a little – for appearance's sake alone – and took his hand from his axe-hilt.  The pair continued on their way enjoying the silent companionship, very nearly back at the main fortress of Helm's Deep.

It was dark, completely so, but the blue-jeweled Elven eyes pierced the night-veil with ease.  Legolas slipped into the room silently; closing the door noiselessly after him.  He was tired, which was a rare thing, and not as aware as he would normally be.  He took off his light boots, his belt, and his daggers in a fluid motion that would have looked almost inhuman to any watcher.  He then slipped off his tunic and shirt, preparing for a welcomed rest in a soft bed, when he sensed a movement on his bed.  He was alert in an instant, cocking his head a little to one side in interest.  He took three halting steps to the bedside, and then leant over…

When the grey-stone slept she looked smaller than she did awake.  It was as if her spirit gave her the impressive presence she was so filled with in the day; and when she was unconscious that vibrant aura was gone, and she could be seen as all she physically was: a slight maiden barely over her twentieth year.  She was so delicate, so vulnerable, so innocent and so infinitely _precious _when she lay there, completely trusting, on his bed.  He wanted to protect her from everything dangerous in Middle Earth; and was mildly distressed by the knowledge that, wild spirit as she was, she would always willfully throw herself into peril.  She needed to know she lived on the edge; that the fates need only move her a little to bring death.

'_If I chose to send you,_' he recited in an almost trance-like state, bewitched by the love of a shield-maiden who would always be a Man in part, '_then believe not that thy one sword is not worth the sending.  For the valour of the Edain the Elves shall ever remember as the ages lengthen, marveling that they gave of life so freely of which they had on earth so little.  But it is not for valour only that I send thee, but to bring into the world a hope beyond thy sight, and a light that shall pierce the darkness._' He reached out and stroked a strand of dark hair from her face with all the care in his ancient heart.  Ilúvatar himself must have whispered the same words to this brave soul before he sent her to live.  Mithmír Rochiwen had pierced many shadows with her light; and, indeed, when mortal – and still now – she gave her life with a free-hand to those who deserved it in her eyes.  All too free, he thought.  'I could not bear to lose you, Lady,' he said, his voice barely a light intonation on a soft breeze.  'But I cannot tie you down, for I swore on my word not to tame that which finds joy in being wild…  And so I must watch you risk your life over and over again, and be helpless.  But rather that I were as a watcher hurt than for you to be betrayed and caged.'

And then words escaped him, and he slipped onto the bed beside her lithely, pulling the lightest of sheets over his half-naked body, and wrapping himself around her.  She shifted a little, a tiny frown creasing her forehead to his amusement, and muttering grumpily.  He kissed away the frown-lines delicately and then settled down to sleep beside the woman he loved.

'Lúthanin,' he whispered sleepily, 'lúthanin…'  _Enchant me…_

Mithmír twisted her head around uncomfortably to look at the dreaming Elf indulgently.  He sensed her movement and tightened his arms around her to hold her to him.  It suddenly struck Mithmír that he might not be so asleep as she thought…  It was hard to tell with Elves anyway, with their eyes always open even as they slept.

'Deri,' he ordered, creasing his face like a bossy child, demanding to be harkened to.  _Stay_.

'Legolas?'  She asked, trying to stop her spreading smile.  The cover had been kicked off, she noticed.  Legolas never did sleep still; though he remained almost unnaturally so now, and didn't reply.  She decided to change tack.  'Legolas,' she whispered huskily in his ear.  'Legolas, nín melui, im alinnas lútha losta edhel…'  _Legolas, my sweet, I will not enchant a sleeping elf…  _She ran a teasing finger across his chest quickly, barely touching the warm skin.  It was a trick she had learnt from her second (out of three, Legolas included) partner, a Rivendell Elf named Heniûl, the ember-eyed; and it was nearly guaranteed to get a reaction.

Legolas, however, managed not to focus his eyes and show any sign of wakefulness other than a shiver.  _Where did she learn this?  _She was outgoing, yes, but normally not in this kind of way.  He opened his lips a little.  'Mithmír, ôlelleth [_dream-maid_]…'

'Tirnanin,' she bade him softly, trying to coax his eyes to her with words.  _Look at me_.  Legolas no longer possessed the willpower to resist what he what he wanted to do anyway, and so his pretty blue eyes blinked and then looked straight at the dark orbs of his love.  She was kneeling by his side, having escaped from his embrace, and leaned over him a little.  She smiled when she saw alertness awaken in him.  He raised his arms a little and stretched, moving sensually in the extreme.  A slight flush rose to her cheeks, and so looked away for a second.

'Tirnanin [_look at me_],' he said, repeating her request for himself, and turning her face to his again with slender, gentle fingers.  'That was a wonderful surprise last night,' he said with a slight, tender smile.  'I count myself most blessed for it,' he continued in Common.  'Waking up with you beside me… it is like a dream, and yet better even than any Valar-sent vision.  I would not have any more.'  _I will never take what you will not gladly give, and I am happy to lie by you without passion if it is all you wish, _he added silently.  _Anything to have you by my side._

'It was the least I could do,' she replied with equal love in her voice.  'But Legolas…  I need to talk to you.'  She bit her lip nervously.  Somehow it was easier to flirt with a man – be he Elf or human – than to talk with him on your fears.  With Legolas it was easier than with any other, but she was so worried he would reject her for her qualms – which were groundless and idiotic, she often told herself.

'Of course, nín meleth [_my love_],' he replied with concern tingeing his voice, sitting up beside her and trying to entwine her in the protective mesh of his arms.  To his surprise and hurt, she shook her head firmly.  He could see in her eyes that it pained her to do so, too, but he also saw the – somewhat apprehensive – resolve deep in her gaze, and he knew that this was not some idle dawning chat, and that she had to force herself to start the conversation at all.  'You can tell me anything, gwaedh-elleth [_literally "troth-maid", meaning fiancée_],' he reassured her when she seemed to pause again.  He laid his hand on hers where it rested on the pillow, and there she let it stay.

'You cannot understand how much those words mean to me, Legolas,' she whispered gently, and then, taking a deep breath, she began to share the weight of her worries with another; though whether it was to halve the load or double it she could not yet foresee.

***

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	20. Fear

Sorry it's been so long, but for some reason this chapter was very hard to write…  Enjoy and please review.

***

She twisted her hand under his so she could clasp his thumb between her warm fingers.  From the slight shaking there, Legolas knew it was more for her benefit than his.

'Shall I say the hardest first, or the easiest?'  She asked with a weak grin in his general direction.

He moved a little closer to her.  'Whichever you think, nín meleth [_my love_].'

She laughed a little, nervously, and her hand tightened around his, causing her small nails to make white marks on his smooth skin.  He didn't complain.  'Well, I know what the brave option is…  And that's what I'll do.'  She tried to smile again.  'Maybe Aragorn can help me tell you the easiest – eas_ier _– thing, later.'

'Alright,' he said softly, unused to such uncertainty in the maid.  With her in close proximity he couldn't help but wonder when they would be lovers, not just in love.  She looked so stunning to him as she sat there, dressed in only a light slip, her dark hair loose over her shoulders.

Mithmír breathed deeply again.  'Legolas, I want to be your wife,' she began.  They both sensed it was a rather ominous beginning, and fated to have a "but" after it.  She couldn't help but prove that anticipation right.  'But… there are things I'm afraid of.'  She looked at him in anguish, wishing he could read her mind and she didn't have to _say _these things…

'That's fine,' he said in as supportive a voice as he could.  'I am nervous too, of many things.  But I have you, nín uireb meleth [_my eternal love_], and to be bound to you forever in body and soul…  No apprehension can dull the joy at that idea.'  He smiled tenderly, and delicately moved his fingers, stroking her hand soothingly.

'Legolas,' she said again as if taking strength from the name.  'Legolas, shall I bear your children?'

'Valar willing!'  He said in a hopeful cry.  'Your children shall be the most beautiful in all of Arda, Mithmír Rochiwen; laeg-heneb [_keen eyed_] and fael [_just, generous, fair of spirit_] with souls as shining as your own…'  Legolas often slipped into the Sindar tongue for adjectives, finding Westron simply unable to express the full emotions he wanted his words to contain.  Mithmír sympathized with him: being fluent in both tongues, she could see why, to an Elf in particular, the Common Tongue and the language of the Fair Folk could never compare.

'When shall I be expected to bear your kin, Legolas?'  She asked nervously, but gaining in purpose.  'Is the culture of Elves similar to that of Men, where a child is born in the first year in most marriages?  Or shall we wait decades?'

'Whenever you want,' he replied, slower than his last words, and more carefully.  He began to perceive just what she feared.  'Never, if that is what you wish.  I should never wish to force you to do anything, Mithmír, you know that; and to _make_ you bear children… I should never consider such a thing.'  He shivered, repelled by the thought.  To Elves, the act of lovemaking is highly sacred, and she-Elves are greatly respected for their ability to procreate– such a thing would never be forced on them.  An Elf, if raped, becomes so hateful of their tainted body they either commit suicide or sail away over the Sea.  It would never occur to Legolas, if he had not met or seen some of the more vile Men, that a woman could be made, unwilling, to do so.

'You wouldn't?'  She asked, brightening a little.  She had hoped he never would, even partly _knew _he would answer so; but to be reassured by his lilting, concerned voice was deeply calming.

'Of course not,' he replied firmly, stroking her thumb with his index finger delicately and gazing honestly into her eyes.  'And Mithmír… there is no shame in fearing to bear children.'

'I don't fear the _bearing_,' explained Mithmír, beginning to smile a little at last.  'A little pain to bring our child into the world is no hardship.'  Legolas mentally whispered that he would rather she faced no such discomfort, but realized it could not be helped.  'It is… I'm _young_, Legolas,' she continued.  'If I were an Elf you would look at me and say I was maybe a thousand years old.  But I am only twenty-one, Legolas – I am barely over a child myself.  To be a mother…' she laughed a little at herself, and the sound was almost painful to both of them.  'It's a silly fear to have.  Being a mother – and to your children – will be wonderful.'  She sounded as if she were trying to reassure herself more than him.  'I know it is childish of me to worry about it.  I can bear children, I know, and pain does not make me afraid, and I love _you_, Legolas Thranduil's son; but nevertheless… something makes me afraid.  I can't explain it.  To be a _mother_, and no longer just Mithmír Rochiwen Silfëa…' she trailed off, feeling she was failing terribly at voicing her feelings.  'It sounds even more ridiculous when I say it out loud,' she confided.  'But I'm young, and I don't think I'm ready to do such a thing.  The entire idea is just… frightening.'  She blushed.

He embraced her wordlessly.  'Alno archas,' he whispered, running his fingers through her hair as if it were precious, spun gold.  _Be not afraid.  _'You shall do nothing until you are ready.  To be a mother is a very great responsibility as well as a joy.  I am nervous of being only a father – I do not think I would ever be strong enough to be a mother, and I am in awe of anyone who is – which you are, I am sure.'  He smiled kindly, though with her head on his bare shoulder, she couldn't see it.  'You are not the only one to be nervous.  And your fear is not groundless; it is natural.'

'Really?'

'Really.  All Elf-maids feel it, too.  Let us be afraid together, Mithmír Rochiwen, and we shall over come all worries to find eternal bliss.'  His poetic words moved both of them deeply.

Her breath caught in her chest before she replied.  _Why do I ever doubt you?  _She wondered silently, breathing in deeply of the Elf's woodland scent, fresh as in the Forest's dawning.  _You always make my fears seem silly, and put hope in my heart.  _'I love you,' she said so softly he could barely hear it.  'We shall be afraid together.  And Legolas…' she brushed her lips over the highly sensitive tip of his ear, and he made a slight moan of pleasure, inclining his head further to her.  'I shall bear your children, and be proud of them – when I am ready.'

'I know,' he said, moving away a little so he could see her face.  'I know,' he whispered as he leaned forward.  'I know,' he said finally before two pairs of satin lips met at dawn.


	21. Note The Second

Sorry there have been no chapters for a while!  There will be one tomorrow, I promise you, unless aliens abduct me :)

-- Annaicuru


	22. Don't Rub It

Slightly pointless chapter.  And a little short.  Sorry but I am very busy revising at the moment.  Fun to write, though.  Hope you enjoy Aragorn's antics as much as I do.  Please review!

***

Mithmír had brought her clothes to Legolas' room the night before when she came there, and so she had no need to visit her own chamber.  She dressed in the same room as the Elf, but insisted that he turn around, which he did.  She, in turn, looked away when he changed his tunic and shirt – though he had not insisted on this.

'Breakfast?'  He asked, wrapping his arms about her as protectively as he dared.  She lay her head back on his shoulder, her mouth very nearly touching his neck.

'Yes,' she exhaled languidly.  It appeared she was back to her usual, cheerful self.  'I'm hungry.  Very.  Almost hungry enough to eat _you_, delectable Elf that you are.'  She nipped his neck almost experimentally, making him flinch and gasp – not wholly in dismay.  She chuckled, the vibrations running riot down her love's body.  'Hmmm… quite a tasty Elven dish,' she continued.  It was lucky Legolas could not see the mischievous grin on her face, or else he may have moved – perhaps wisely – away and denied himself the pleasure of feeling the tip of her tongue lick his neck fleetingly.  As it was he shivered blissfully.

'I'm glad I'm to your liking, my Lady,' he replied with a trace of laughter in his voice.  'But I would prefer it if you didn't leave teeth-marks all over me.  I'm sure there's better fare in the Dining Hall…'

She sighed, and moved away from him.  'There is very little better than you, Legolas Greenleaf,' she replied with a smile.  'But some fruit and bread wouldn't go amiss.  Let's go.'  And then she half-ran out of the door, leaving the Elf to follow, slower, after her.

She "made eyes" at Aragorn across the table for the entire meal.  The King wondered if his honorary niece had something in her eye; for why else would she be winking so much?  He shrugged and mimed rubbing his eye before slapping the right hand away with his left.  _Don't rub it or it'll get worse._

Mithmír rolled her eyes at him.  'Valar give me strength,' she muttered under her breath before taking another mouthful of the porridge Gondor men seemed so fond of.

Lord Celeborn looked at his Lady, despairing of the antics of Men and yet amused by them, too.  '_We leave Middle Earth to these Men?  What shall they do to these lands?_' He said with a soft smile.

'_The time of the mortals is here,_' Galadriel said with infinite calm, touching the Ring of Adamant, Nenya, with a loving, knowing caress.  '_They shall do as they will, and none of the Eldar shall challenge their rule any longer._'

Celeborn nodded a little.  His beloved High Elf, child of the Light, was wise in deed; and though her words pained him he knew they were true.

After they had finished eating, Mithmír followed Aragorn like a dog with a scent, out of the Dining Hall and into the long, straight corridor.  It was there that she caught up with him.  Legolas stood a little way back and watched in silent amusement as his love demanded the attention of the King of Gondor with the most attractive show of pure impertinence he had ever been witness to.

'Uncle,' she said plainly, 'you are free to talk now, aren't you?'  Inside she was worried, but it quieted her nerves to act so bold.

Aragorn suddenly realized that she _didn't _have anything wrong with her eye, after all.  He felt more than a little incompetent.  'Of course,' he said quickly, hoping that if he was nice she would forget his little "display".  He then caught sight of Legolas' deceptively willowy form standing behind Mithmír; obviously being polite and trying not to intrude.  'Will this little chat involve Legolas Thranduil's son?'  He asked in a hushed voice, which Legolas never the less heard easily.  It was so that he replied before Mithmír did.

'From what Lady Mithmír has said to me, King Aragorn, I think it shall…' he looked slowly to Mithmír for confirmation of this, who nodded.

'It is to Legolas we shall be saying things, uncle,' said Mithmír meaningfully, stressing "things" as much as she could and widening her eyes, trying to get the Man to understand.

'Oh.  Yes,' replied Aragorn steadily, finally cottoning on to the _entire _conversation.  He looked at Legolas again, meeting the elf's serene blue eyes, which were ever-alert as usual.  He wondered how his good friend would take the news that his lady-love wished to put her life on the line for her King.  'Will we talk now, or later?'

'Now,' said Mithmír firmly.  'We can talk in the Main Courtyard, it's as good a place as any.'  She then turned on her heel and walked briskly away at that direction.  It was not possible to see her fear and doubt in her slim form.  Aragorn looked at Legolas once, curiously, before following; and the Elf was left, temporarily, alone in the corridor, wondering at the secrecy and emotions covering this simple "chat" they were to have.

He could not have known of the _Aratirith_, guards of the Noldor, who were about to change his life irreversibly.


	23. Tell Me

They went into the Main Courtyard, and there they sat on a long, low bench of dark stone.  Mithmír Rochiwen sat in the center, with Aragorn on her left and the Wood-Elf on her other side.  Legolas only settled down for a second, however: barely as he sat down he got up again, feeling more comfortable to stand as straight and easy as a tree before the pair on the chair.  He did not appear to feel uncomfortable to be so separate from the others and to have them both looking at him intently.  He cocked his head and waited, politely, for his love to speak.

'Im meleth le,' Mithmír reminded him softly, so quietly that Aragorn, who appeared to be lost in his own thoughts anyway, did not hear.  It seemed to Legolas that Mithmír's hearing had always been sharper than most Men's, and now she was an Elf it was even more so.  _I love you_.  She met his eyes with hers, once, her dark orbs trying to pass on the music of her soul to him.  'I… I made a choice while you were away, Legolas,' she said in her normal voice.  'I can still change my mind, if you want me to, of course.'  She blushed a little uncharacteristically.  The colour didn't come to her cheeks like rose petals – as it always does in stories – but more like a slumbering flame hidden in the embers of a dying fire.  This description was far more apt to her character; and, to the Maid of Horses, would have been far more flattering – had she heard it.

'Please tell me,' begged Legolas in his eloquent tones.  A worry stirred in his heart, but he stifled it quickly.  _I will never doubt your wisdom, _he reminded himself of her.

Mithmír looked at Aragorn for reassurance.  His shadowy eyes, so similar to her own, put her at ease, or at least more so.  Mithmír realized with a grateful smile that her uncle would always be there for her, for all his long life.  He was as close to her father as anyone living could ever be – except herself, his only child and daughter.  'Do you know of the _Aratirith_?'  She asked Legolas.

He nodded a little after hesitating.  'Yes.  The High Guards of many stories of the Calaquendi [_the Elves of Light, the High Elves, those who saw the Trees in Aman_].  Yes, I have heard of them in tale and song.  I have heard no stories of them after the Second Age, and even before then they are only nameless tales with faceless characters; merely containing echoes of near-unmatched valour and fidelity…'

Aragorn spoke next, breaking his silence with a strong voice.  'You have heard the Wood-Elves' tales of the _Aratirith_, yes.  The Calaquendi themselves have much more complete records, as befits the respect the High Guards merit.  Maybe you shall hear them someday.  But for now, I presume that you know all you need…?'  He raised an eyebrow in question.

'I think I do,' replied Legolas in his usual, lilting voice; though it contained more confusion than was normal in the wise being.  'I know that they were brave, and wise, and gave their life for those they swore to protect.  I know that they guard the House of Finwë – or once did.  As I said, I have heard nothing of them for an Age.'  He looked thoughtfully at Mithmír.  It appeared to her that he was already guessing her part in these tales…

'Do you know the Melkalwen of the stories?'  She asked suddenly and abruptly, her intense gaze locking Legolas' attention to her.  'The _Aratirith _of Galadriel?'  Though she may not have noticed it, Legolas was aware of her hands playing with the hilt of one of her daggers as if she were tense.

'I have heard the name,' admitted Legolas.  'It was the name of one of the _Aratirith_, one worthy of renown, who was living for many of the Ages of the Stars, and was last mentioned in our tales in the Ages of the Sun.  Why does this matter to you, Mithmír?'  He asked finally.

'My mother, Lómwing, was once called Lómwing Melkalwen,' said Mithmír alone, her voice bold in the silence.  'She was the _Aratirith _of Lady Galadriel.  And it is her blood which flows in my veins; which granted me the right to be counted among the Elves; and which also…' she paused, desperately trying to read her love's outwardly calm expression, 'shall have me joined into the ranks of the _Aratirith_.'

Legolas would have been proud of the serenity of his fair visage.  Dark lashes closed nearly completely over effervescent sapphire eyes, blocking off his emotions.  What he had feared – and also anticipated – for so long was finally happening: his grey jewel was being taken away from him, and he could not hold her to him without taking away her freedom.  For a second he drowned in his sorrow, and then, suddenly, the clouds in his mind cleared.  He opened his eyes totally again to see Mithmír's concerned gaze.  He realized that it would not be so bad.  He could see the worry there in her eyes; the love; the – though she should hate to admit it – partial dependency.  She should never run away from him, never once and for all.  She needed her freedom, her right to express her emotions, the option to run free and without care, sand this was her birthright after all.  Mithmír was born to wield a sword and daggers as much as she was destined to make a difference with her flame-spirit, and this was her chance.  He discerned that she needed to be remembered, after she was gone, needed to be sung of in lays and written about in scrolls of Records; and this was the way to make sure that happened, that the part of her soul which was still Human and needed recognition could be content.

'Tell me of what you must swear to be an _Aratirith_,' he said delicately, a voice like the wind and more than equally striking in its bold beauty.  'Trenarnin.'  _Tell me_.


	24. To Be Feirce And Desperate

Aragorn turned his eyes to Legolas suddenly, jerking his head around.  He loved Mithmír Rochiwen, that could not be denied, but he had to make sure Legolas knew the whole truth, all that he was letting himself in for.  It would not be fair for Mithmír to withhold anything – though he doubted she would.  She was undeceiving, and preferred laid the truth out to be judged by all, risking hurt on her part, rather than hide it away to be found later on someone else's terms.  'Listen carefully, Legolas Thranduilion [_son of Thranduil_],' he warned to his dear, wise friend.  'And speak your mind.  _Do not agree with something only for her sake_.'

Legolas expected Mithmír to glare daggers at her uncle, but to his surprise she only nodded softly.  'It's true,' she said a little grimly.  'Say what you think, Legolas, and if you wish to deny this to me, then by all means do.  Please do.'

'Alright,' he replied in his usual calm tones, though his heart was racing in his chest.  'I shall speak my mind, and though I am loath to do so, I shall…'  He paused, eyes searching hers for any flicker of emotion that was not expected, 'tell you if I disagree with your decision.'

Mithmír willed her hands not to shake, and they obeyed her will.  She was glad her hands, at least, obeyed the "mind over matter" laws: her stomach was wrenching itself into excruciating knots of worry.  Her eyelashes fluttered a few times before she managed, by pure willpower alone, to begin to speak….  Legolas stood perfectly still, listening intently and as silent as a cat, for all of her long, halting, apologetic explanations.  His quietness worried Aragorn, but the King did not say anything.  He realized that Mithmír found it hard enough to say these things without any interruptions.  Only a few times did the Elf's eyes meet with his friend's, and then the blue lights that sparkled therein were full of questions and wonder in equal proportion.

Legolas himself was struggling to link his love, his only Mithmír Rochiwen Silfëa, with the great _Aratirith _of old.  He did not doubt she had courage enough, but in his eyes Mithmír was young, and to be linked with such an ancient tale, ongoing from nigh the Waking of the Firstborn, that was nearly unimaginable…  Much of the news interested him, a great deal more made him incredibly proud of his wife-to-be, but much of it scared him also.  He barely noticed that she had finished when her flow of words ended, so soft had her voice become.

Mithmír noticed the ending of her tale all to sharply.  It was as if the words were her shield, and she could hide behind them while their unstoppable flow let no others speak; but that now they were stopped anyone could hold the silence and twist it to their will…  She looked up at the stars to avoid meeting either of the men's eyes, but whenever she looked at the heavenly lights, the elenath, she could only think of them as reflected in her love's expressive eyes…

These eyes were firmly fixed on her, however.  Elves were, perhaps, the most mystical of the three dominant races on Middle Earth.  They were of the same kind as the Valar and the Maiar, though nowhere near so great; for as the other two kindred's their lives, too, were sung out in the Songs of the Ainur, and though their lives were long they could truly change little.  Men are of a different stock altogether, and this was the reason they were not so close to the names of the Valar, and were so dissimilar to the Elves.  Their lives, though short, were not foretold, and they could change the whole course of the world.  Though the Fair Folk, the High Elves of the Light, had greater gifts than all other lines of Elves; all of that race had great blessings of incredible intuitions, an ability to glimpse – if only for a second – what the future might bring.  None could see as clear as Galadriel, but all could at least sense emotions.  Legolas was counted among the highest of the Grey Elves and the Wood Elves, and now he was struck with a sudden foreboding…  _If I allow you to become an _Aratirith_, and take your place by Aragorn's side, you shall face great pain, and nearly be torn in two…  But if you find a way to stay true to yourself, our love shall be stronger than ever…_

He knew his answer then, in his deepest heart, and silently he begged Elbereth Gilthoniel that his decision should be true.  'If you find the calling of an _Aratirith _does not… mesh with the rest of your life, then you may give up your post to another, may you not?'  He asked in a flowing voice, flicking his eyes to Aragorn momentarily.

Mithmír nodded.  'Yes,' she replied as surely as she could.  'Lómwing Melkalwen, my mother, gave up her position to Tondfael.  I could do that, though I admit I should hate to do so.'

_I am so proud of you, my butterfly-child, _thought Aragorn, his heart aching with love and the pain which was woven so deep with it he could not tell the two apart.  _You have made so much of your life.  And now you still cling to the right path, fighting away all adversaries fearlessly…  You shall make the right decision in this matter.  _He was so sure of the last statement it shocked even himself.

'And you shall mention in your vows that you shall stay at home for most of the time – if you will, of course,' he added with his usual grace and thoughtfulness, '– and that you shall always keep your loved ones by you?'  He silently begged her to stay by his side, always, to never leave or stray, to always keep her pillar of strength near him…  But he knew it was too much to ask.  _Nothing can be perfect, _he reminded himself in a dream-like way.  _Remember how she told you once ago she was not perfect?  It is true.  Neither can your love know only good times and bountiful harvests.  The Elves had to cross the Sea to reach Valinor…  The bad most come for there to be good._

'I love Aragorn,' she replied truthfully.  'But yes, Legolas.'  She looked at Aragorn apologetically, and he wished that she could understand there was nothing at all to be sorry for in what she said so beautifully.  'I shall _always _put you and our family,' she smiled at being able to say the words so freely now, 'above my duties as a High Guard.  _Always_.'  She got up nimbly, and took a step forward so she and Legolas were nearly touching, her head angled up to view his.  It seemed then that there were only her and Legolas in existence, and they were together, spinning in the starry Void in some timeless dance of harmony and trust and love…  'There is nothing in the world that will ever take me away from you,' she said, her word as good as her promise – or so, at the time, she believed.  Promises are most true when they have been tested, and tests there should be in abundance.  'You are all I have ever dreamed of.  But I must also protect Aragorn.  It is in my blood, I want to do it, and I can see no more fitting end than to die on a sword-tip.'  She silenced his fearful retort by laying a rough finger over his lips.  'I am a warrior, Legolas,' she said, no longer sorry for the fact, but proud of it.  'To die as I lived is no shame.  And now I am an Elf we shall meet in Mandos' Halls again, even if we are separated so.  _Nothing shall part us_.  Do you not see?  I shall always wander, I shall always risk my life for his; and I shall always love Faramir my brother with a sacrificing emotion, and be ready to lay my body to waste for his.  But my soul, Legolas…' she withdrew her finger, and her eyes were sparkling with unshed tears, caused by her desperation to speak her mind to him, 'my soul is only in your keeping, and it shall always return to you.'

He knew that it was true instantly, the conviction in her words was touching, and drew silent tears to his beautiful eyes.  He drew her into a timeless embrace, holding her to him so strongly that he never wanted to let go.  He kissed her forehead tenderly just as her first tear wet the skin of his smooth neck.

'You shall be an _Aratirith_, Mithmír,' he said gently, his voice full of pride and unabashed, limitless love.  'You shall follow your calling, and live with your loved ones while you serve another whom you love also.  For, as you say, there is nothing in all of Arda that could sunder our two souls which are bound together by such a love as this.'  And then their lips met, and regardless of Aragorn, they kissed with a feirce desperation of two who have come to terms with the fact that life shall be hard, and are resolved to face it together, and not bow to the sorrow and pain.


	25. Praising Horses

The three separated almost instantly after their conversation, Mithmír getting increasingly embarrassed about kissing Legolas in front of Aragorn.  They were to leave the Hornburg later that day, and so Mithmír immediately headed for the stables.  She spent a good hour grooming Brialvastor, trying to relieve her sense of guilt at having ignored him for so long.  'Bain roch,' she praised him dreamily while she brushed his dark body with the utmost care.  _Beautiful horse._  Brialvastor, well-used to this, stood completely still but for his head which tossed impatiently from time to time.  Mithmír finally stood up with a sigh, bending backwards till the tension in her spine was relieved.  She patted Brialvastor's side, and then set to work putting on his saddle.  She never used a bridle when she rode.  Brialvastor followed her voice, and, if not, responded to gentle tugs on his mane.  A harness-like thing around his head seemed completely pointless and degrading to Mithmír.  She sometimes rode completely bareback, but on long journeys she preferred a saddle, and Brialvastor put up with it.

'I see you are still smiling, Mithmír,' said a familiar voice, gentle and loving, from behind her.  Mithmír didn't have to turn around to see who it was.

'Yes, Legolas,' she said with a wider grin, blushing a little at his attention.  She was glad he couldn't see.

'I see how much being allowed to be an _Aratirith _meant to you, now,' replied Legolas thoughtfully, letting his own horse, Arod, out of his loose-stall.  'And I shall be eternally glad that I answered as I did.'  He whispered something in Sindarin to Arod, but it was too fast for Mithmír to catch.  She was fluent in the tongue, or so she should like to think, but the Elves laid such intonation on their speech to impart the myriads of feelings needed that the words themselves seemed to transform near entirely from one use to another.  'Do you look forward to the ride?'  He asked, after a while.  Mithmír had turned to face him, sitting down on an upturned bucket.  Legolas himself was checking Arod's hooves.  Mithmír had learnt, to her surprise, that Legolas was like Aragorn: though both royalty, they cared for their own horses and would have no servants do it for them.

'Yes, to the ride,' she replied slowly, her forehead creasing in sadness.  'But no, for at Fangorn Forest I shall be parted from you.  As much as I love my friends, and desire greatly to see them again, to be sundered for so long from you is hard to bear…'  Her eyes assumed a faraway look as her mind strayed to the bittersweet memories of Tirathnavir, Anoniel and Haldir.  She looked forward to seeing them greatly, but there was pain in the joy, for she knew that when she married Legolas she should see them much less than she had before, when she had been growing up with them.  The War of the Ring had kept her away for a year – the idea scared her somewhat, but it was true – and now she should not return to her old life as she had once thought she would after her adventure was over.  Nothing would instantly return to normal, she now realized, there was no beginning to things and, more importantly, no end.  Normality and the life she had once lived were closed to her now, and she could never retrace her steps.  She had made herself someone, she had fought by the side of the Ringbearer, she had seen death and pain and lost much of what she held dear – the old Mithmír was gone, now, but the new one rose from her ashes with the help of a Sindar Elf.  And this one would leave her friends in Lothlorien and Imladris while she lived in Ithilien far to the South…  But maybe the sundering should be different from that, she reminded herself.  Perhaps some of her three friends were preparing to go over the Sea, finally – she knew the thought had been on Anoniel's mind in particular.  And perhaps Tirathnavir and Haldir would go to Mirkwood with Celeborn when he returned, as Lothlorien faded without Nenya, one of the Elven Rings, to protect it with its magic?  She doubted this, however.  Tirathnavir and Haldir would stay together, if they had declared their love or no, and even as Lothlorien withered they would stay under the mallorn-boughs till the very last of their flowerings.

And in they end, even if the four friends were parted so, they would all sail over the Sea at some time.  Or at least, Anoniel, Tirathnavir and Haldir would.  Mithmír shied away from these thoughts.  She would cross that bridge, over the river of her indecision and Man's still-strong love of Middle Earth, when she came to it.

'Do not worry, we shall come together again,' Legolas reminded her calmly.  'I shall only visit Fangorn Forest and then see you again in Minas Tirith.'

'You shan't visit your family?'  She asked, surprised, being unaware her beautiful, somewhat secretive love had changed his plans.

'They shall come to Ithilien for the marriage,' replied Legolas with a deep seam of happiness and pride, 'but Calenhir – my brother – shall come even earlier.  I have been brought a message from him by the Lady Galadriel, and apparently he cannot wait to see your beauty with his own eyes.'  He turned to Mithmír, with laughter apparent in his bright eyes.  'He seems quite taken with you – though of course, _he _won't be getting you.'

Mithmír smiled back, flattered, but her curiosity was more important than Legolas' compliment.  'How does a Mirkwood Elf know about me?'  She asked.  'Mirkwood isn't exactly, well, _close_.  A message could not have got there…'

'Elves do not only converse in words written and spoken,' was all Legolas would reply.  He may have been about to say more, and he was _definitely _about to be interrogated by Mithmír, but he spun to face the door as it was opened from the outside.  Tondfael looked in briskly.

'Am I interrupting anything?'  He asked with all the manners of his kind.

'No, please come in,' returned Legolas with equal grace, returning to praising Arod while Tondfael entered.  Mithmír sighed.  It looked like she had found another question on the Elves which none of them would answer.


	26. Desperate Beauty

In this chapter I make a reference to Mithmír losing a sibling.  There _will_ be a short story (i.e. one or two chapters) explaining this, when I get the time.  All you need to know is that Mithmír has lost a sibling as well as her father and, imminently, her mother.

Excuse the length, also.  Exams, ugh!

Read!  Enjoy!  Review!

***

'We're to ride now,' Tondfael said after a slight pause.  'Aragorn asked me to take his horse outside for him, and the other horses – those from the other stable – are already waiting outside."  He smiled a little in a meaningful way to Mithmír.  "Including the Lady's horse."

Mithmír didn't have to ask who the "Lady" was.  The tone of reverence in Tondfael's voice was enough; there was only one Lady; and also – not least, in her eyes – Legolas bowed a little momentarily, and cried out in an awed voice, 'A Galadriel, mín hiril fael, beleg calben-rîn o malthen-eryn!'[_lit. O Galadriel our fair and just lady, great light-elf queen of the Golden Wood (i.e. Lothlorien)_].  Mithmír smiled at him.  The Elves showed great respect for the Lady Galadriel, who was probably the highest Elf alive now on Middle Earth; and in fact the Elves were very open in their respectfulness: not ashamed to fall on one knee before a packed company, for instance.   Mithmír understood the reverence, but not the excessive need to show it.  To Legolas, however, it was the most natural thing in the world to show the esteem in which you held someone with simple words and actions – though they were beautifully chosen and executed, of course.

'We had better leave too, then,' she said a little wearily.  Her body was as physically toned and ready as ever; but the last few days had emotionally drained her to a surprising extent – in Legolas' mind, a worrying one.  Mithmír called in Sindarin to Brialvastor and went to hold the door open for the stallion as he passed out.  Legolas walked out past her close to Arod, his hand on the horse's flank.  Tondfael went out last, accompanying no horse of his own: his own mare was in the courtyard, as Mithmír rightly supposed.  He did, however, take Aragorn's stead by the reins; face showing obvious disgust at the method of control; and led the beast out.  Mithmír closed the door behind them all and stepped out herself, sniffing the fresh air outside the caves with obvious relish.  The wind picked up her hair and engaged it in a whistling dance about her head.

Legolas turned back and looked at her, while Tondfael passed him and walked on to the group of travelers waiting below – among them the small band of Elves, mostly Galadriel and Celeborn with their accompanying courtiers and single _Aratirith _(not to mention Tondfael).  She was keenly, desperately beautiful up there, standing one and alone against the tide of the wind which was unusually strong that day.  It made him think of other ways that she was alone…  As much as he had sworn to always stay by her side, there were some ways in which he could never totally understand her, and never truly feel the depth of her grief.  He had never lost a parent or sibling, for one.  He had never been sick; and also – and he felt this strongly – he would never be torn in two, not in the way that she was so often.  He was an Elf and purely an Elf, there was no trace of Men in his blood.  There was no quarrel in his heart as to whether he would cross the Sea or no – and that very struggle seemed to be tearing Mithmír apart more and more recently.  He often caught her humming songs about the Sea: both Elven ones of the journey and Valinor, and the songs of Men about how Elves "disappeared across the water".

'Why do you wait?'  He called up to her, his voice a strong dart of sound not wavering in the breeze.

Mithmír's eyes focused on him finally, and she began to follow him down the slight slope to the others.  Legolas' would have liked to wholly attribute her actions to his call, but he was wise enough to see that Brialvastor's impatient whinny had awakened her as much as anything.  Before the Quest of the Ring onto her – all too young – shoulders, she had been famed as a horsewoman rivaling even the very best of the Rohirrim; and she loved her Elven stallion too dearly to let him suffer any discomfort, or want for anything.

'I'm coming, Legolas,' she said as she caught up with him.  She angled her head towards him and her bright eyes sparkled with excitement.  'You can't leave _me _behind that easily.'

'I wouldn't want to,' he assured her softly.  'I would never, ever want to.'


	27. Night Brings Visitors

They rode fast out of the Hornburg that day; fast and hard.  Mithmír was used to it; however Gimli, among others, was not.  He did precious little but complain for all the first day's journey; and the near-constant gruff moaning threatened to drive Mithmír Rochiwen mad.  Unable to meet Gimli's eyes, and unwilling to insult Legolas' close and unlikely friend anyhow, the shield-maiden settled for looking intensely at the Greenleaf himself until he noticed her – which was very soon.  No Elf can be unaware of someone looking at them.  She then shared an exasperated look with him; and his eyes stared back, blue and understanding with laughter tickling their depths.

'I think your words annoy the Lady Mithmír, Gimli my friend,' he informed the dwarf almost immediately, turning his head back elegantly to eye the dwarf with one curving brow.  'See how she turns her stallion away from Arod and tries to move away from our company?'

Mithmír gasped in indignation.  'Legolas!'  She couldn't help exclaiming.  The Elf, however, appeared to be very pleased at his own lack of discretion and laughed as gaily and brightly as he always did, his head tilting back ever-so-slightly, causing his golden hair to glint ever more in the high-noon sun.

'It is true, is it not?'  He asked joyously, all the happiness of his soul shining out through his expression.

'I don't doubt as it is, Elf!'  Gimli retorted angrily, clutching Legolas' slim waist tighter than ever as the Green Elf looked away from the horse's head.  'But Dwarves and horses don't go together as well as Elves and horses; and few in deed were seemingly _born _in the saddle as your Rochiwen was.  I have every right to complain.  Your Lady may laugh if she will.'

Mithmír blushed, and glared as fiercely as she could at her love.  He, however, reacted as he had once before, and merely shot her an incredibly clear look, and as if his meaning were not apparent enough anyway, he also mouthed: _your arms, my Lady, your arms should be around me like this…_

Mithmír, as confused by the complex emotions as she had ever been, spun her head around with as much temper as she could manage, and Brialvastor willingly walked a little further away from Arod.  No matter how far away she was, however, she seemed to still be able to hear Gimli's complaints.

She slept on the first night far away from Legolas' resting-place; on the very outskirts of the camp.  She felt more comfortable that way, with her sword lying close beside her and her hand over the hilt; and the idea of protecting the others appealed to her nature, as it always had.  Tondfael laid his pack beside her, and rested in the same way as she, weapon to hand.  They talked late into the night, taking turns to keep watch.  The power of Mordor may have been broken; but many foul things remained in the world.  In those dark hours Mithmír learnt many more of the _Aratirith_'s lessons; and all of the tales of their valour which were still known to the Eldar.  Her liking and closeness to Tondfael grew and grew; and their friendship strengthened quickly.  Soon they knew near all about each other, and she learnt many new and extremely valuable lessons: how to make him laugh, for instance.  This was relatively easy with the _Aratirith_, however: he was still young, for Elves, with no Ages of sorrow weighing him down, and so he was still quick to smile and be joyous.

It was a couple of nights later when Tondfael had a meeting with the Lady Galadriel, the Lord Celeborn, and the King Aragorn.  It was to last late into the night, and was to be held a way away from the camp, which is why Tondfael went – to protect them.  Unnecessary, probably – Aragorn was still a wonder with the sword – but it was his duty, and his honour.  Despite all her begging, pleading and clever arguments, Aragorn would not back down, and Mithmír was not allowed to go with the others when they left early in the evening.

She lay alone, on top of her thin blanket, as the night crept over the camp like some silent, welcomed conqueror.  _Celebdîn_'s blade was cold against her side, but she nevertheless clutched the sword ever as tight, drawing comfort from the Elven-wrought metal.  She was lonely, after so many nights of constant conversation and then the silent companionship of knowing someone watched over while she slept.

She would not be lonely for long, however.  Gimli had been tired after "that excruciating darkness-sent torture method on a horse", and had gone off to sleep very quickly.  Unusually for Legolas, he had been unable to sleep himself; being unable to clear his mind of the gulls' cries which haunted him ever the more.  Eventually he stopped trying altogether, and got up from his sleeping-roll as silently and smoothly as the night-breezes.  He skirted the camp in a matter of seconds, feet falling lightly on the grass, and soon was standing, as one with the shadows, looking at the dark form of Mithmír on the ground.  He watched with baited breath, eyes wide with awe and wonder, at her chest rising and falling with her breath.  The movement was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen; and the love it aroused in him was almost painful in its intensity.  Here was another aspect of her being alive that he found almost hard to understand: she may be an Elf, but blades and other traumatic incidents still had the power to take her life.  The idea scared him, and made sorrow grow in his gaze.

He crept forward, eyes always locked on the rising and falling of her chest, wishing he could capture and keep every bit of air that escaped from her lips, for it was nigh on being the most precious thing in the world to him.

Mithmír sat up suddenly, bolt upright, her breathing catching in her chest as her adrenaline raced through her body.  She had heard no one's approach, but as with all seasoned warriors her sense of anyone approaching was very accurate and she trusted it implicitly.  She could not wield _Celebdîn_ without getting up, which she was loath to do when she could not see where her enemy was, and so instead she reached behind her and drew her two daggers from the sheathes strapped to her back.

'Who wanders here, and approaches?'  She called out boldly, her eyes searching the darkness.

Under the cover of the night, something moved.__


	28. Night's Cover

Mithmír let there be no time for a reply.  She didn't feel she needed one – who- or _what-_ever it was eyed her too intensely, that she was aware of by the rising of the little hairs on the back of her neck.  She didn't allow herself to shiver.  _When fighting, all movement should be controlled: as free and full of life as it can be, but nevertheless every movement should be dictated by the warrior.  _She smiled a little as she remembered one of her beloved father's first lessons to his young daughter.  The expression was made grim by the determination in her steely eyes, and the slight ring of metal as she put down _Celebdîn _in favor of the daggers.

And then she moved forward silently, running like a cat, trying to pin down a certain point in the darkness and find the tangible, sentient being there.  She held her daggers comfortably, expertly, weighing their familiar mass in her hands and already deciding which would strike first – she would spin, making the right dagger connect first at shoulder-height, with the left following just with a jab into what should be an arm.  Incase her opponent turned out to be harmless, she would only make non-lethal attacks until she had identified them.  This was much harder than fighting to kill; being a much more refined and calculated style of fighting, where the shield-maiden had to be sure not to let adrenaline get the best of her.

She could not guess at how many times the figure eluded her among the trees.  It seemed to twist and turn among the low-hanging boughs almost as a bog-wraith would; moving with ethereal serenity and grace.  Never could she get close enough to see the stranger's face; and never did they speak for her to learn their voice.  She tried to quell the frustration that rose in her like a gaseous cloud; choking her senses and drowning her wits and mind.  It reminded her of how she had been when she was a teenager: rash and impetuous, far more than she was now.  She disliked it, and knew well how much of a disadvantage it put her at.  She shook her head to clear the dizzying fog of emotions therein, and tried to add a little more speed to her feet.  She was regretting her actions now: it had been unwise to stray from the camp and leave the others.  There were guards, of course, but she was by far the strongest fighter there.  This could be a decoy, trying – and succeeding – to draw her away from her post.

She stopped suddenly.  She would not be a pursuer in the dark any longer.  'Who are you?'  She called again, making her voice as bold and loud as it could be.  'Come out from the shadows and tell me your name, or else be you afraid of a maiden?'

She was caught completely unawares by the strong arms that looped themselves protectively about her trim waist from behind.  She tried to gasp, but a  hand was close across her mouth, binding her to silence.  When she tried to struggle, and twist the knives around to strike her assailant, a foot came up from behind her and nimbly kicked one away.  She was still holding the other, but she was persuaded not to use it when the hand left her mouth, only to return pressing a dagger-tip to the small of her back.

'Tûr nín,' whispered a satin voice beside her left ear, warm skin nuzzling hers, sending shivers through her body.  _My victory._

'No,' she whispered in Common, smiling widely, before slipping into Sindarin.  The Elven tongue seemed to suit the mood coursing through her more.  She knew her captor was Legolas; and the knowledge exhilarated her.  They were alone, completely alone, with only the darkness as their cover from watching eyes…  'Altûr nín.'  _Not your victory._

'_Why do you say that?_'  He asked, voice skipping over the beautiful syllables of the Grey Elves' language.

'_You'll see_,' she whispered playfully, turning in his arms to face him.  '_You'll see_.'

***

Sorry it's so short!  And even worse, there'll be no more chapters till Tuesday.  Mithmír and Legolas are on hold to then.  Really sorry and there'll be a nice Legomance-y chapter then to cheer you up.

-- Annaicuru


	29. Shadow Hunting

Legolas' face was outlined strikingly by the moonlight that sifted through the tree-tops.  Mithmír had rarely seen him in a truly wooded environment, and now she felt she caught a glimpse of his full beauty; how he, a Wood Elf, looked in his element, his home in Mirkwood – or rather, Greenwood the Great.  He face was mostly in shadow, but the soft light caught on his hair and nose and lips, and the stars shone from the immeasurable depths of his age-old eyes.

'You're beautiful,' she whispered, the words taking new meaning even as she said them.  She raised one hand to rest on the side of his head, tracing unusually delicate fingers along his chin, his satin-smooth skin, his high and elegant cheek-bones.  This was so unlike touching anyone else…

The Elf inclined his head to her hand sensuously, lips betraying the true strength of his passion, despite his calm face, as they parted a little.  'Then we are matched,' he replied coolly; graciously accepting the compliment without a hint of arrogance or boastfulness.  His arms closed tighter about her, not forcing her to step towards him, but merely suggesting – and she did not refuse.  The shield-maiden moved forward boldly, so her body was pressed against his.  She shivered at the sensations, and his hand settled in the small of her back just as his head moved forward and his lips caught hers in a fleeting kiss.  When he moved his head away again, one pointed ear brushing against her still-outstretched fingers; and Mithmír opened her eyes again slowly, as if trying to delay the moment when sight, not touch, must take it's place as the most important of her basic senses.

'Why did you lead me into the wood?'  She asked in a heavy whisper, laying her hand down on his shoulder where fingers played with deceptive idleness with his braid.

'So you could catch me,' he replied serenely.  'Or rather –' he laughed a little, the sound as pure as running water, piercing the night like a dagger-point – 'I could catch you.'

She locked her eyes with his, a flutter of anger stirring there, but not for long, and not at him.  Few males did she hold close enough to her heart to forgive them for implying her to be weaker in any aspect of the fighting arts.

'I did not mean to imply that you are more feeble than I, Mithmír,' whispered Legolas, one hand slipping under the back of her tunic and stroking her skin.  He appeared to read her mind.

She laughed a little, breaking the stare and instead moving into run her lips along his throat, not quite kissing, but as close to it as she could be.  'I know you did not.'  _Or else, _she added silently, _you might well be engaged in a fight now.  _'You are probably the stronger, however,' she admitted with incredible self-knowledge.  Oddly enough it did not hurt her to say so.  'You are an Elf of high lineage, an immortal, with many centuries of experience, wisdom and a wealth of Elvish tools and weapons…'

Legolas took one hand from her back to lay a finger delicately over her lips, hushing her in a gesture that was, at once, passionate and brotherly.  'You are an Elf, now, and I cannot think of a higher line of Men than the Dúnedain, your father and yourself; and was your mother not Lómwing Melkalwen, a High Elf?  And shall you not be an _Aratirith_?'  He gazed at her seriously.  'You are of high birth, and very few beat you in swordplay.  Your archery is very good, your daggers swift and deadly.  You strike hard and fast.  You are young; but you have all youth's life and spirit…'  He paused to kiss her again.  'And I love you for it.  It is I who shall be marrying above my rank, not you.'

Mithmír blushed.  'Really, Legolas, you're a Prince…'

'And when we marry, you shall be a Queen, and a Queen to rival even Galadriel and your ancestor Melian.'  He smiled softly, aware of how much his simple and honest words would affect her.  'You don't need an Elven Ring to be as loved and honoured as Galadriel, Mithmír Rochiwen Silfëa,' he reminded her, using the name for her that only his lips spoke.  'You have a magic of your own that is far greater than any which the old Elven Smiths could harness.'

Mithmír's blush rose up to her cheeks, not only from his words but from his lithe, heated body pressing against hers.  She could feel every elegant, sculpted contour of his body through his thin shirt almost as if it were a part of her.  'Thank you,' was all she replied, breathlessly.  'Thank you. I can't wait to be your Queen…'

Legolas moaned a little as if in agreement, the warm air expelled from his mouth gracing the skin of her neck as he worked caressing lips up to meet hers.  'You cannot long for that day as much as I do,' he replied unusually huskily.

She would have replied, but his lips were on her own, his tongue seeking hers, and she was all too happy to remain silent, and instead talk with him through touch and the silent affirmations of love in the eyes of them both.

Tondfael sensed the people in the wood from far away.  He was not the _Aratirith _of perhaps the highest Elf left living for nothing.

'Hiril [_lady_]…' he said, halting his walk back to the camp.  There was little need for words between him and the Lady of the Golden Wood.  They understood each other well enough, and though not a warrior Galadriel would know what he was drawing her attention to.

She turned her piercing eyes to him, halting her light steps also.  Beside her Celeborn halted.  Bainuilos looked over at his son from Celeborn, his Lord's, side.  He looked confused for but a second, and then resolve hardened in his eyes.  He would stay with the Lord and the Lady while his son went to scout.

'Tiri [_look_],' she replied in her familiar, beautiful voice.

Tondfael nodded, and taking his bow to hand slipped away into the trees, soon but one fast-moving shadow among many.  He knew not what he was searching for; and doubtless he would never guess what he was to see….


	30. Bliss, Interrupted

Legolas and Mithmír were enjoying another searing kiss when they heard an Elven call from nearby in the wood.

'Crist enni!  Crist enni!  Glamhoth vi'eryn!  [_Swords to me!  Swords to me!  Orcs in the wood!_]'  Despite how preoccupied she was with her love, Mithmír instantly recognized the voice of Tondfael, and the two Elves sprang apart; the woman's hand flying to her sword-hilt, and Legolas taking his bow and readying a Lothlorien arrow.

'Ellon a elleth teli! [_Elf and elf-maid come_]'  Cried Mithmír, the flush caused by Legolas' attentions slowly leaving her cheeks.

'We do,' agreed Legolas in a whisper, before moving forward in a swift, silent run towards the place whence Tondfael's voice had sounded from; and where now the faint cries of battle could be heard.  Mithmír ran beside him, moving through the trees like an arrow, straight and sure.  She looked over to him, and wondered at how focused he was: such a short time ago they had been embracing passionately – a fact which she could not rid from her mind – and yet now need called, his mind was purely on the task at hand; his slim fingers curled around the Elven bow skillfully and strong; not caressing smooth skin.  She admired him for it; though she felt a pain somewhere deep in her chest at the idea that, though immortal, a blade or an arrow-tip could steal the life of her beloved; and that though now he ran to face combat with an expectant, almost joyous expression on his youthful and yet age-old face, the fighting could easily overcome even his skill; and replace the smile with a pale façade of death.

Legolas seemed to sense her eyes upon him, and though he looked not from the way ahead, he said in a timeless voice which belonged to all lovers that have ever been or will be, 'you can never lose me, Mithmír.  We belong together.'

The tears came to her eyes unbidden; but she had controlled them by the time they reached Tondfael.

The dark-haired Elf was surrounded by a band of maybe a dozen orcs.  His sword, the wondrous _Cristeiliant_, was drawn; the orcs being too close and too many for using arrows.  Three orc-bodies were already fouling the fair forest-floor, two killed by arrows, the other still bleeding his last ounces of life-fluid – if life it could be called, to be an orc – from deep wounds on his chest and neck.  Tondfael himself was a fighter in his element.  He looked as if he were incredibly distant in spirit as he fought; his mind having strayed to the place of incredible calm the most skilled of warriors can reach at will.  His dark hair spun around him as he moved fluidly and powerfully; perfectly composed and in control – stroke, parry, stab, parry, stab, withdraw blade…

Mithmír, who had never seen her mother's sword hewing flesh as it was truly meant to, was in awe.  She could see why it was said to make rainbows: it whistled through the air as if cutting the very fabric of reality; and even as the blade itself shone as if with many colours, so did the air it sliced through, shimmering for many seconds in it's wake.

After what seemed like many minutes, but was really only moments later, a portion of the orc-band noticed the two new-comers, and broke off to fight them.  Mithmír stepped towards them, as did Legolas, and after that neither had any knowledge of the other, or of Tondfael.  Each would have to trust to the other's skill to keep their loved one alive.

Mithmír had already drawn _Celebdîn_, and her first stroke was made as if she were in a trance.  It cut almost lazily through the air, moving slow in her eyes, taking its time, before hitting the shoulder of the nearest orc with a sickening crunch and digging deep into the flesh, cracking bones and splitting flesh.  As Mithmír withdrew the blade, heaving with both hands at the effort, she heard the wheezing breath of the stricken beast, and knew that its lungs had been punctured and its life would not last long.  She felt an odd thrill in the attack, and as soon as that adrenaline coursed full through her body, time resumed its normal speed.  A grim smile spread out over her features.  After all the emotional drama of the last few days, she had finally returned to the sword-play which made her so sure of who she was:

Mithmír Rochiwen, the Elven Dúnedain, shield-maiden and _Aratirith_.


	31. Forewarning

Bainuilos was leading Galadriel and Celeborn back to camp, sword drawn, all senses keen and tuned, when suddenly he stopped.  He swung his head about almost as if searching for a scent; dark hair flowing over his shoulders like a black flood.

'_Tondfael has found trouble?_'  Asked the Lady in Quenya.  It may have been an odd choice of language for the moment; but neither of the other Elves questioned it at all.

'_Yes,_' replied Bainuilos in the same tongue.  His son was a competent fighter; far more skilled than most left on Middle Earth in this Evening Days; but that did not stop him worrying.  Even an _Aratirith might suffer bad luck and be felled in battle.  Elven bodies were not always spared from death just because of their immortality.  He paused a while longer before continuing: '__there are orcs in the wood!'  Before the Lord and Lady had time to react; Bainuilos – with his fighter senses – had already assessed the situation.  Celeborn and Galadriel were unarmed, but for a dagger in a sheath at the he-Elf's waist – and that could do little damage.  They could still run fast, however, and hide in the trees so well they could never be seen without much searching.  And they had weapons of a different kind too – courage, wisdom, and – in the case of Galadriel – the inherent power in all High Elves.  Bainuilos counted Nenya not as a weapon: the Elven Rings were for crafting, not destroying.  Only in the greatest and most pressing need would Lady Galadriel use the Ring of Adamant's failing power for killing.  Hopefully, that need should not show itself, and the last of Nenya's magic should be used to create some lasting monument to the beauty of the Elves._

'_Shall we return to the camp?'  Asked Celeborn calmly.  He trusted his _Aratirith _with his life, and the life of his Lady._

Bainuilos was an _Aratirith true; even as the old High Guards were.  He did not pause in his answer when he decided to leave his son to whatever fate awaited him in the Wood.  It was not lack of love, but faith; and after all the __Aratirith's duty was to care for their Lord – or Lady – before their all else.  __Aratirith lived and died by the sword, if they died at all.  Tondfael was one of the best.  He would survive.  '__I shall accompany you to camp,' he agreed.  '_It would be dangerous to leave you alone.  Would you care to go ahead?  Lord, draw your dagger.  I shall guard with my bow.  Galadriel…_' though his son may have been in danger a mere half-mile away, Bainuilos was always courteous.  After Galadriel had stepped away ahead of him, he followed behind her, notching an arrow to the bow.  He was ready, just as he always had been during the countless years he had held Celeborn's life before his own._

By the time all the orcs were dead, their carcasses littering the ground, nearly an hour had gone by.  Mithmír had received many minor cuts and bruises – she had not been wearing her armor, a fact she did not regret as it would have made her meeting with Legolas far less pleasurable.  Elven flesh was more agreeable under caressing fingers than cold metal.  As soon as she had felled the final orc before her, she plunged _Celebdîn deep into the soft earth before.  When she drew it from the ground with a heave, the blade was mostly clear of orc-gore; and so she sheathed it.  The sound of metal on metal ran out through the clearing; the very sound dulled by the atmosphere of death.  Even in victory, Mithmír did not find killing something to celebrate.  To win a battle against evil was a joyous occasion, yes, but to revel in the spilling of blood…  Only when she had cleansed herself and rested could she show true joy._

'You shall make a wonderful _Aratirith_, my cousin, Lady Mithmír Rochiwen.'  Tondfael's voice was tired, but sincere.  Mithmír looked up at him, wiping a trail of her blood from her right forearm as she did so.

'Thank you, Tondfael,' she replied quietly with a smile.  'My fighting skills cannot compare with yours, however.  And _Cristeiliant…' she let her sentence hang, knowing her wide eyes would tell her cousin all he needed to know.  She blushed a little as Tondfael bowed to her, and turned to Legolas.  'Nín meleth[_my love_]?  Are you alright?'  She asked, a little worry creeping into her voice.  The Wood Elf had sheathed his daggers, and was standing tall with no visible wounds, but one hand was to his face, and his eyes glittered with some shocked emotion._

'Legolas?'  She asked again, momentarily forgetting Tondfael as she approached her love in a rush, stopping only when she was before him and looking up at his pretty face.  'What's wrong?'  She fought to keep the hysteria out of her voice; a part of her disgusted at herself for being so worried, so like an ordinary maiden.

Legolas' eyes widened, thick eyelashes fluttering closed as he blinked rapidly.  He drew his hand down from his face.  To Mithmír's relief, only a thin trail of blood wandered over his fingers.  The cut from which the blood came was thin and nearly perfectly straight; a red line moving down from elegant cheekbone to jaw, narrowly missing his moist lips.  The Prince smiled a little at her worry.  'Barely a scratch, Silfëa,' he assured her.  'Only the tip of an orc-dagger.  It shall heal in two days or so, and leave not a mark – Elves heal better than mortals.'

Mithmír sighed in relief, and leant into his chest where his arms embraced her tight.  She reached up a careful finger and wiped away a droplet of blood that was forming.  She did not speak.  His words may have been true; but this incident had proved to her again that her beloved was not invincible.

It was Tondfael, not Legolas, standing to the side of the pair, silent and watchful, who saw a single tear fall from Mithmír's eyes.  He did not speak, knowing that she had just realized even her undying love could not save he who was above all else in the world to her.


	32. Concerning The Tastes And Pleasures Of H...

'Orcs?'  Asked Aragorn in amazement when they returned, weary and bloody.  Even as they talked with him Celeborn and Galadriel's maids were binding their wounds.  Mithmír winced as stinging salve was applied to the cut on her arm, the worst harm she had received.  Even Elvish medicine was not wholly pleasurable, for all its greater potency.

'A whole band of them,' replied Legolas in his lilting tones.  'Maybe twenty or so…'

'At least fifteen, King Elessar,' confirmed Tondfael, with his usual deference to the King of Gondor.  'And hardy fighters for orcs; well armored and bearing many weapons.  That is unusual in peaceful lands like this one…'  He paused.  'Well, peaceful after the War of the Ring ended, and peaceful before it began.'

Aragorn nodded, and his eyes were grave.  'There are many wandering bands of foul creatures about even now,' he stated in a surprisingly calm way, the fire in his eyes not shown in his voice.  'It is an odd chance, however, that they struck one fighter on his own in a near-deserted wood…  And that they were making for our camp on the night that the Lady Galadriel, the Lord Celeborn and myself should all be away…'

'Far too odd a chance to be mere coincidence,' agreed Mithmír in a low voice.

Aragorn turned his piercing gaze her way, trying to hide his paternal instincts for the girl and not hug her, check her wounds, kiss her cheek.  'What do you think it was then, Mithmír?'  He asked in a warm voice.

Mithmír shrugged.  'Simple enough, isn't it, Aragorn?  The attack was planned.  We were not supposed to reach our destination.  It's only logical – we're a high-ranking party, what with the King of Gondor and the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood traveling with us, and few guards – even if Tondfael and Bainuilos are perhaps the most skilled High Guards left alive on Middle Earth today.  A good catch for any and all bands of orcs and uruk-hai left after the War.'

Tondfael and Legolas raised their Elven voices in agreement.  'Lady Mithmír is right,' Tondfael said.  'But they were rash to come in such small numbers when four Elven warriors awaited them here.'

'That merely means there was no highly intelligent leader directing them,' replied Legolas in smooth tones.  'That is a blessing Valar-sent.  They still attacked, though, and there may be more coming later.  Maybe that was only a scouting party, and they did not expect to be caught in the woods at all.  It is possible to hope that they knew not of the meeting that took place…'

'Possible,' grunted Aragorn in reply, 'but not overly likely, I think.'  He sighed, and passed a hand wearily over his brow before continuing.  'It is lucky in deed, Legolas, that you refused to come to the meeting.  Your skill with daggers was well-needed in the fight, or so it appears to me.'

A bright fire awoke in Mithmír's eyes.  She loved Legolas, but… 'Tondfael and I could have handled the orcs,' she said angrily.  'We were capable.'

Aragorn raised his hands in apology.  'Mithmír, I meant not to imply that you and Tondfael were not capable of dealing with the attack on your own – Ilúvatar knows you are!  But you would have suffered far more wounds.  And I also think that had Legolas not been in the woods, neither would have you.'  His voice was stern, but there was a hint of sympathy for the girl's wild spirit in his deep, secretive look.  To his credit, though he knew quite well what Legolas and Mithmír had been doing, he mentioned it not in any more detail than that.

Nevertheless the shield-maiden blushed and averted her eyes.  Her nod was slow in coming.

'The question remains,' spoke Legolas, making Mithmír wonder if he _ever _felt embarrassment, 'as to what action we should take in light of the events…'

Mithmír wondered if it was natural for him to speak so politely when he was in company with anyone but her.  But then, she reminded herself silently, he _was _a Prince – and one of the highest Elven Princes left alive, because he was heir to Greenwood the Great – if he wanted it.  As it was, with Legolas wanting to live in Ithilien, it seemed that if either son came to rule it would be Calenhir, his younger brother and only sibling.  It made her realize just how different their up-bringings had been, and that, if she was to be his Queen in Ithilien, she had much to learn.

Aragorn nodded.  'Our conversation tonight – last night,' he corrected himself in light of it now being morning, '– which you missed, Legolas, discussed much on that topic.'  He looked at Mithmír, rogue strands of dark hair slightly covering his eyes and their expression.  'Mithmír, since you are the only one "in the dark" about our conversation – and I can see in your eyes how much you hate that fact – I deem that I can, after these events, tell you of that talk…  And Legolas, too, needs to know exactly what was said.'  He was about to continue when two small men – hobbits, no less – broke into the pavilion at a dash, coming to a halt in the middle of the open space, between all the chairs of the assembled.

Merry and Pippin took a good while to catch their breath, but their bright eyes danced all over the assembled folk while they did so.  Legolas and Mithmír exchanged laughter-filled glances with each other over the tiny folks' heads.  It was Merry who composed himself first, and he leaned over to elbow the Took in the ribs.

'Looks like we barged in on something important, Pip.  I _told _you it was a bad idea…'

'It's not _my _fault!'  Replied Pippin in annoyance to his cousin, while smiling brightly at Mithmír, Tondfael, Legolas and Aragorn in that approximate order.  'Hope we're not interrupting anything important,' he said brightly.  'And if we are, you can kick us out, if you want.  But the way we see it…'

'We've a right to know what you're up to,' concluded Merry.  They had an odd way of finishing each other's sentences.  It was one of Frodo's jokes, and one that Mithmír had heard often (though she barely knew Merry and was acquainted with Pippin little better than that), that there was no Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrine Took, only Pippinmerry, or Merrypippin, or Meriadocperegrine, or some other odd mix of the two.  Mithmír thought he was probably right.  'We're a part of this company as much as any other – bigger – folk, and _you're _all getting told…'

'Frodo and Sam don't know,' reminded Aragorn softly, stifling his laughter exceptionally well.

'Ahhh,' replied Pippin, raising an eyebrow and looking very wise as he nodded slowly, 'but they don't _want _to know, do they?  Whereas we do.  We want to know and so you should tell us.  Right, Merry?'

'Right, Pip.'  And the two eyed the others boldly, daring them not to tell the "secret".

'Well,' Legolas said calmly, looking the hobbits over, 'we _might _tell the other hobbits…'

'And I suppose it can do no harm,' continued Mithmír, raising her eyebrows as if considering the fact.

'And they do look exceptionally desperate,' chuckled Tondfael, earning him an awed look from the cousins who barely knew him but had heard of his fighting prowess.

'What's _that _supposed to mean, Merry?'  Pippin whispered to Meriadoc a little too loudly.  All in the pavilion heard it, including the Elf-maids who, having done their healing work, were collecting their things and moving away, whispering to each other in intricate Sindarin.  'Desperate?  Us?  For what?'

'I think it might mean that we deserve to know because we look like we'll fight to find out, Pippin,' replied Merry, nodding knowledgeably.  'And we will,' he added louder, seeing Mithmír's face contort into laughter.

'Oh you will in deed, little Lords?'  Aragorn's eyes glittered with mirth, but he only held out for a second longer.  'Of course we'll tell you.  Please, take a seat…'

The two hobbits did so, whispering audibly between them of their moral victory.  When they were settled, on the stools between Mithmír and Tondfael's chairs, they turned their cheery eyes to the King.

'So, what is it, this thing we want to know about?'  Asked Pippin with a bright beam, not at all ashamed of his lack of knowledge.  'If we can get this over in half an hour it'll be time for breakfast.'  He rubbed his stomach happily.

'Have you much knowledge of the Little People, Tondfael?'  Asked Aragorn, seemingly polite, but his eyes flicked to the halflings and winked.

'No, King Elessar,' replied the Elf in all – apparent – sincerity.

'Then the first thing you should be told of,' replied Aragorn, winking then at Mithmír and sharing a smile with his great friend Legolas Thranduilion, 'is their exceptional love of and fixation on anything edible, and the vast amounts they are capable of consuming in a single day.'

'That's not fair to say!'  Burst out Merry, indignant.  'We like other things too, like…  Like pipe-weed, and ale, and growing things.'  Pippin nodded earnestly along with this statement.  ''Tis not as if we _only _like food.'

'I'm sure it's not,' chuckled Aragorn.  'I'm sure it's not.  But quiet the growlings of your stomachs, gentlehobbits, while we discuss this matter.'

'And then there shall be breakfast in plenty!'  Broke in Legolas, his pretty Elven voice fair ringing with joy and mirth at the innocent, charming antics of the Little People.

Pippin and Merry exchanged glances before speaking.  It appeared that, as much as they wanted to hear the news, food came first.  'Very well,' Merry spoke for both of them.  'We'll listen.  But don't try to keep any secrets from us, Aragorn!'

'I won't.  And I promise you'll get _both_ breakfasts today, Meriadoc and Peregrine.'

'That's well then,' sighed Pippin happily, and settled down to listen along with all of those who had not heard the full story of the previous night's meeting.


	33. Arguments

Just to warn you there's implied slash in this chapter.  If you don't like it, don't read it, and I'll try to warn everyone at the top of each chapter if there will be any.  I understand that many people dislike the idea of homosexual relationships and that's a valid opinion.  You can still understand the story while missing out these chapters.  Though there will be many it's a side plot.  This is a PG-13 story, though, so there'll be no sexual profanity or anything in either hetero- or homosexual relationships.  On a rating of one to five, the amount of slash in this chapter is about 2 – it's only references to a couple, no specific details.

Enjoy!

***

It appeared the meeting had been about less important things than Mithmír had thought, at first.  Aragorn talked for a long while on things that barely interested her: the state of political affairs in minor lands, the repair work being done in Isenguard, and Celeborn's plans to live in Mirkwood, which were only mildly more interesting – though Legolas listened with particular intensity at that point.  It seemed he had heard precious little of the news about his own home; and Mithmír was touched by the sweet, longing, almost homesick look that came into his beloved eyes when Greenwood the Great was spoken of.

Eventually, however, Aragorn did reach what Mithmír innocently saw as the "point" of the conversation.  He turned his dark eyes to her, and surveyed her with solemn silence for a good minute.  Merry and Pippin wiggled impatiently.  Finally, he began to speak.

'Mithmír, my niece…  How should you feel to depart from this company earlier than your friends?  Before we reach Isenguard?'

Mithmír Rochiwen started.  That was hardly what she had been expecting.  When she finally answered it was only after having exchanged a silent look with Legolas.  'Not if there's a reason…'

'I assure you, there is,' he replied simply.  'Though it may not sound important to others here, you shall understand it.  Galadriel and Celeborn wish you to leave early to be present at the handfasting of two of their most faithful wardens and guards.'

Mithmír realized who he meant near instantly, and mostly because of the term used: "handfasting" was different from marriage in that it was the joining of a homosexual couple.  It had exactly the same purpose and meaning and merely the name was different, for some unknown reason.  She knew only two guards of the Golden Wood who liked each other enough (though they had not admitted it when she left a year ago) to be handfasted…  Her eyes lit up with wonder and joy unlooked for.  'Haldir and Tirathnavir?  They are to be handfasted?'

Aragorn smiled a little.  He knew the two Elven warriors nearly as well as Mithmír, and had heard much of their progressing relationship from reliable sources.  'Indeed,' he replied.  'Galadriel told me that Haldir proposed the idea but three months ago, and that they were exceptionally quick on deciding that it was in accordance with both of their wishes.  Now they intend to be 'fasted in but a month, and you must leave now if even the speed in Brialvastor's hooves shall suffice to get you to the Golden Wood for the date.  Celeborn and the Lady feel they should repay their many debts to the two border-guards by sending you with their best wishes to the ceremony.'

Mithmír was still in shock from the suddenness of the news.  Somehow she had never imagined Tirathnavir and Haldir sharing anymore than un-admitted love…

***

Many years in the past, in the Golden Wood 

****

_Mithmír's bower had been in an exceptionally beautiful _mallorn _tree that year.  It was late in the evening and there was no place she cared to be more than in the little room, high up in the canopy, that she called her own – for now at least.  That was where she lay at this moment, on the low couch in one corner, staring down and out over the waist-high rail (for the 'room' had no walls and no ceiling, it was more a platform than anything else) down on the Elves who moved and danced below to some lilting music, refrains of which she heard from time to time.            She smiled down at their bliss, knowing her own rivaled with it.  There were few places where she was as happy as she was here, in the Golden Wood, with the faint silver light filtering down through the _mallorn_-boughs to add an ethereal glow to her features and the music of the Elves meeting her ears._

_Tirathnavir watched from the entrance to her 'room' as a slow smile spread across her young features.  He was smiling softly also, but there was a hint of beautiful sadness in the deep pools of his eyes.  He was of yet unknown to her, for he climbed the winding stairs to this place silently, as only an Elf can (or mayhap a Hobbit); but now, before he alerted her to his presence, he watched and judged her mood for a little while.  His own mind wandered on other paths also: on the meaning of her mortality, on how he would lose her in maybe only sixty decades by the counting of Men – earlier if battle claimed her.  The thought pained him, and he could not bear to ponder on it for long._

_'Mithmír Rochiwen?'  He said in a calm voice, talking a step forward into the room._

_The girl rolled over on the couch, looking startled for barely a second before her features resumed their happy gaze of content.  'Tirathnavir!  I didn't hear you…  Come sit?'  She arranged herself into a sitting position, and patted the couch by her legs which were covered in a long, white dress.  The male Elf nodded and did as she asked, leaning forward over her and placing one arm on either side of her slim form.  From below him, Mithmír reached up a playful hand to run her fingers through the incredible smoothness of her friend's hair.  'Why did you come?'  She asked in a whisper.  From the ground far below came a chorus of Elvish laughter, tickling the night breeze._

_'To talk,' he replied softly, a flicker of some passionate and barely restrainable emotion crossing his eyes.  'About him.'_

_'You didn't tell him, did you, Tirathnavir?'_

_For once the Elf looked lost and unsure.  'No.  I tried but…' he searched her look with his eyes.  'I couldn't do it.  The way he looked at me…'  He shook his head a little softly.  'I don't want to ruin our friendship, Mithmír.'_

_They talked for a while longer, as they had so many times,  before Tirathnavir crept out to go and patrol with Haldir, his beloved, and Marchwarden of Lothlorien._

_It would be early the next morning when Haldir came to meet Mithmír to talk on a pressing problem._

***

'I'll go,' she replied firmly after barely a seconds pause, her mind still crowded with memories.  She locked her eyes with Legolas' and said to him in reply to his shocked look, 'I'm sorry but I have to go.  They're two of my best friends.  I'll still meet you in Minas Tirith in two months or so as we planned.'

Legolas' voice was fierce with emotion.  He had expected at least another two weeks with her before they separated, and though he had promised himself he would always let her be free, and he had _known _he would have to make sacrifices for her friends, but he hadn't expected it to be so soon…  'We'll get married then,' he said bitterly.  'And it's fine if you want to leave my company so early.'

Aragorn's look turned angry also, and he spoke to Legolas as friend, King, and uncle of Mithmír.  'Legolas, what makes you say such things?  That's completely unfounded and untrue, as you know, and such outbursts are nothing like your normal behavior.'

Legolas turned to Aragorn, and in that second Mithmír saw that maybe the records of Elves having fast tempers were more true than she had believed.  The male Elf bowed.  'Then to stop it happening again I shall leave this company until my temper is sweeter.'

And with that he stormed out with never a backwards glance.


	34. Ring

There was silence in the pavilion after Legolas stormed out.  Even Aragorn, usually so skilled in the art of expression, was silent and the look in his dark eyes was troubled.  Merry and Pippin's faces were contorted with shock at the unseemly rage they had witnessed in one whose race they had thought the calmest of all on Middle Earth.  Mithmír herself stood still in the middle of the tent, not making a sound, and her eyes dim and unfocused.  She had known that she and Legolas would argue, of course, and if they were to be married and in each other's constant company it might happen often – but she had never known it would hurt as much as this to hear any harsh word from those lips she loved so much.

Tondfael was shocked, also.  The _hadhodrim_, the dwarves, had always claimed that Elves, once roused to anger, spoke harsh words – and maybe, in dealings with those people, it had been true.  There was no love between the two races.  But he knew as good as any other that this was half-way true only with most folk: Elves could be roused to passionate displays of anger, but it was rare, and a great embarrassment to them when they were calmer in later times.  He could not help but wonder what had made the Elven Prince so heated so quickly.  He understood that the prospect of imminent marriage was enough to make anyone, Elf, Dwarf, Hobbit or Man, feel nervous; and accepted that Legolas was travel-weary, and wounded, and worried for his Lady's safety on a long trip alone over the many leagues North to the Golden Wood; but nevertheless his behavior was quite astounding.  He had done one thing right, however: leaving till his temper was abated.  Such angry words as he did so, however, were not needed.

Tondfael rose from his chair with a typical, fluid motion and looked to Mithmír and Aragorn in turn.  'I think it is best if I talk to Prince Legolas first?  I know him not as well as either of you, but maybe he shall value the words of one of his own kind highly enough to make up for that.'

Mithmír breathed deeper than usual, fighting to keep the tears that blurred her vision from falling down her cheeks.  She nodded at her cousin.  'Maybe you're right,' she said in as still a voice as she could manage.  'Aragorn – I leave today?'

'If you will, Mithmír.'  He nodded as he found his voice, shooting Tondfael a grateful smile.  'Though the Lady Galadriel especially should like to speak with you before you ride.  Perhaps you could meet her and then say farewell to anyone else.'  By "everyone else" is was clear he meant not only her companions but also Legolas, and Mithmír was wise enough to know that it was hoped Tondfael should have calmed him by the time she spoke with him.  She hoped this was what would happen: Legolas, when angry, was something she never wanted to ever have to perceive again.  Or Legolas when jealous.

She nodded.  'Where are they, Aragorn?'

'Their pavilion.'

Mithmír left, wordless, with merely a nod to the two hobbits who were still in some state of shock – and hunger.  Behind her came Tondfael, whose face was set in a stern look of duty.

One of the Elven-maids announced Mithmír's entrance in a pretty voice.  She had introduced herself as Sadrowen, a name well-suited to her post as a ladies' maid for it meant _faithful woman_.  She led Mithmír in with a quiet smile and a kind look.  Inside the pavilion Galadriel and Celeborn were seated on simple, wooden chairs; but the attitude and awe-inspiring qualities of the High Elves upon them made them seem more intimidating than thrones.  There was an atmosphere in the room that made Mithmír sure they had been deep in discussion before she arrived, and that it had not been a happy conversation.  Sorrow hung in the air, and it was more than the inherent sadness of the Light Elves.

Mithmír dropped to her knees, as all Elves did as a sign of respect.  'Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn,' she greeted them, still keeping her head turned downwards.

'Well met, Mithmír Rochiwen,' replied Celeborn in his stately, almost ethereal tones.  'Please, stand and speak with us.'  Mithmír did so, getting up and finally meeting her eyes with theirs.  They were not dressed as they normally were: white finery had been exchanged for simple grey traveling-gear that, for all it's plainness, was nevertheless beautiful to look upon when worn by that lovely, age-old couple.

It was Galadriel who spoke first, not rushing her words, but pronouncing each syllable with effortless beauty.  Silence held no fear for her.  Her bright eyes seemed to pierce Mithmír's soul as she spoke, and the shield-maiden was sure that, with the Ring of Adamant in her control, Galadriel could, if she wished, read every thought and memory in the Dúnedain's mind.  'You should not worry about Legolas Thranduilion.  He is merely angry and grieved at the news of your parting; and before you ride away you two shall meet again and forgive each other.'

To this Mithmír nodded, seemingly unsurprised that the Lady could foresee this, and soon Galadriel continued in her measured tones, 'we are deeply gratified to see that you shall, indeed, attend the handfasting of two of our Marchwardens.  For a long while we purposed not to tell you, believing that your time with the Prince of Mirkwood was more important, but last night we changed our minds and we are glad.'  She smiled kindly, almost maternally, and it made Mithmír's heart glow with pride.

'I'm glad to be going,' she replied truthfully.  'They are very close to me.'

'We know.'  Celeborn spoke this time.  His eyes were, perhaps, a little more cold and distanced than his wife's, but there was no trace of unkindness in them and a slight, Elven smile formed his lips.  'We also know you are to become an _Aratirith _for King Aragorn of Gondor, and this makes us proud and happy.  Aragorn and the Lady Galadriel share the same blood, though they are but very distantly related.'

Mithmír smiled in reply.  'Thank you,' she said quietly back, a slight blush creeping to her cheeks.  'I hope I will be as good an _Aratirith _as everyone seems to believe I shall be.'

'We have faith in you,' assured Galadriel.  'And it is well-grounded.  It seems we know your true worth better than you do.'  She smiled benevolently again, and her wise eyes sparkled with the light of the stars.  'It has been said that you shall have your ceremony to become an _Aratirith _shortly after you marry…  And that is another event we should dearly like to congratulate you on.  A better match than yourself and Legolas Thranduilion we cannot think of; except Arwen and Aragorn, or Faramir and Éowyn, who are equally well-matched, perhaps.'

Mithmír's blush became full now, and she could feel the colour rise to her cheeks.  Her anger and pain at Legolas' previous outburst had all but ebbed away, she discovered, and a blissful smile came easily to her lips.  'We are to be married,' she replied joyfully, 'as soon as I return from the Golden Wood.  I love him.'  The last sentence was pure delight to say, she found.

Celeborn and Galadriel's eyes met, and Mithmír was lucky then to catch a glimpse of the intense and undying, ageless love they shared.  When they turned back to her, Galadriel spoke once more.  'We are deeply saddened that we cannot be there on that joyous day, but hope you shall visit us afterwards…  Lord Celeborn in Mirkwood, and I myself in another place.'  She had no need to mention Valinor, for they all know of where she spoke, and pain came unbidden to Celeborn's ancient eyes.  'But for now we have a parting gift for you, and it is a wedding gift also.  Take it, and our blessing.  We shall meet again.'

And after that cryptic ending-note she passed to Mithmír a small case of leaf-green, and with baited breath the Elven Dúnedain opened it.  Inside, on a bed of white linen, lay a silver ring; wrought intricately of twisting metals, and set with a tiny _mallorn_-leaf-shaped piece of _mithril_.

Mithmír could not find the words to speak.  Carefully laying the case aside she took the ring delicately into her hand, and held it up to the light, twisting it about to observe it in all it's beauty.  Galadriel observed her doing so, and knew of her silent amazement and gratitude, and it was with a beam that she spoke.  'This ring is for you, Mithmír Rochiwen, to decorate your hand with the friendship-bracelet that you always wear – that gifted in part by Haldir and Tirathnavir, no less – and your future wedding-ring.  It is one of the magic rings of the Elven-Smiths, one of their lesser works, not a Great Ring, not one of the Elven Three, but potent in its own right.  Its magic is of creation: its wearer shall be fertile in body and mind, and all she turns her hands to shall blossom and grow fruitful.  It has been in my family for many years; many fair Ladies have worn it; and now, as I prepare to leave Middle Earth forever, I give the ring of Prosperity – _Tegalu _– , to you, future Elf-Lady of Ithilien.'

The thanks were many and long, and there were tears of joy in Mithmír's eyes as she left the pavilion of Galadriel and Celeborn, wearing on her finger one of the greatest gifts that had ever been given from Elf to Half-Elf – the greatest being the love Legolas gave to her.

***

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!  This is the second last chapter of **_All Rivers Flow To The Sea_**.  If there's still interest in the story afterwards (I hope so), there will be a third (and most probably final) full-length story, as well as a series of short stories depicting particular events in Mithmír's life that are most important.

Now's probably a good time to thank **all **of you who read this story, whether you review or not, for your support and presence over the last few months.  Reviewers especially but anyone who reads and enjoys these stories deserves a thank-you, too!

I should update this story tomorrow, and with any luck **Elven Dúnedain **too.

Just before I go, a quick question: I'm **considering** writing more LOTR fanfic when these are done (or at the same time) focusing around different characters, and _not _on the Mithmír timeline (i.e. Mithmír does _not _exist).  They should be mostly short stories, especially in the beginning, and I may start another account to publish them on but I'll inform you if that happens.   I'm looking for someone to beta-read/edit these stories…  They'll all be LOTR fanfics, mostly short in the beginning, and may include slash (though all should be at the most PG-13).  If you think you could do this for me (and you will earn loads of brownie points and mentions from me *grin*), and will be able to read over the stories at a decent speed (relative to length, of course) and reply in e-mails, please e-mail me on pixiewitch6@hotmail.com.  If you do this you will _always _be thanked at the beginning of relevant stories.  If you just want to beta-read, that's fine, and if you have any points to make (i.e. you won't beta-read slash), tell me in the e-mail.  Thanks!

-- Annaicuru


	35. Dwarven Compliments

Mithmír went to find the hobbits to say her farewells to first.  She felt deeply energized and excited, and she could almost _sense _the power emanating from Tegalu on her finger.  She had never been in possession of anything so strong as that simple ring.  Nevertheless, she felt apprehensive at the prospect of meeting her friends for what might well be the final time; as there was a chance she might not see them again when they were in the Shire.  Truth to tell, she found meeting Frodo at any time now disquieting and even distressing: she could sense that the sorrow and pain in his eyes, the emptiness in his soul, could not be healed by any healer's hands on these shores.

The four companions were assembled in a large pavilion devoted purely to the consumption of food and drink.  They were seated around a small table, Merry and Pippin on one side and (predictably) Frodo and Sam upon the other.  It appeared that the Ringbearer, for so he would always be known even now his ordeal was officially over, had eaten very little; and shook his head firmly whenever Sam pressed him to have more.  Sam's own plate was clear of food, and Merry and Pippin were tucking into what Mithmír assumed would be their second or third helping.

'Go on, Master Frodo, you must eat something,' urged Sam in a soft, kindly voice.  'Just some fruit?  It's good food, here, you really would be surprised at what the Elves are able to get for us.'

'I'm not hungry, Sam,' replied Frodo in a distant voice.  'Though the food is undoubtedly good.'  He smiled a little, but the look was not encouraging as it should have been, for there was precious little light in his blue eyes now.  'Do you remember when you first met the Elves, Sam?  And you commented on how happy and sad they were, and how different they were from what you had expected?'

'Why yes, Master, I do,' replied Sam with a grin far more pleasing to the eye than his friend's had been.  'And I stick by it: the Elves are wonderful, yes, and I will always think so, but they're not all as they're said to be in the tales.'

'Many things are not as they're said to be, Sam,' replied Frodo in barely a whisper.

Mithmír judged this as a good time to announce herself, seeing the worried look on Sam's normally cheery face.  She coughed loudly, and made her way over to stand at the head of the table.  'Hobbits!'  She greeted with as bright a smile as she could manage, before looking over each of them in turn: Merry, Pippin, Frodo, Sam.  She had planned to tell them quickly why she must leave – she was wise enough to know Merry and Pippin would have told Frodo and Sam as soon as they first saw them, and so there was little for her to say – but she was suddenly struck by how much _older _these hobbits were than when she had first seen them so long ago in the Golden Wood.  Not only years had changed their faces, but wisdom and many things they should not have seen clouded their eyes.  Overall, however, their gazes were still bright: only Sam and Frodo had truly suffered, and Frodo most of all.  She pitied him.

'You've come to say goodbye?'  Asked Pippin cheerily around a mouthful of what might be omelet.  Mithmír found herself wondering how the Elves had managed to find the ingredients for, and prepare, such food.  This returning journey was very different from her outward one.

She nodded slowly, her heart suddenly heavy to leave these people.  Frodo and Sam she knew well, and she held some kind of respectful love for the Ringbearer in her heart, alongside the pity.  She should miss that pair as close friends made ever closer by being together in dark times.  Merry and Pippin she did not know as well, but what she had seen never failed to make her laugh.  She would regret not getting to know them better.  'Yes,' she replied.  'Not forever, though, or so I sincerely hope.'

'Meriadoc told us where you were going,' Frodo returned.  A trace of his old smile lingered on his lips, and Mithmír would have at that moment given nearly anything to win back the soul of this brave hobbit.  'I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time.  And of course you shall see us again: you travel faster than our company, but will delay in the Golden Wood.  We should meet again in Imladris.'  His voice turned sorrowful, and his eyes lost their focus for a while.  'And maybe later, when I travel again, I shall see you by the ships as you come to say a final goodbye…'  The significance of this whispered sentence seemed to be lost on the other hobbits, but Mithmír understood it and knew it to be true.  After all he had been through, there was only hope and happiness for Frodo in the Undying Lands across the sea.

She nodded.  'Yes, we shall meet again in Imladris.  You are right.  And then again later, it can be guessed, in some years' time.  But now I must ride, and quickly.  Farewell, Meriadoc, Peregrine, Samwise and Frodo.  Till we meet again.'  She found her voice to be choked in her throat, and to her everlasting surprise (she had not known she was so fond of the little people) tears glistened in her dark eyes as she made her way from them, the first four friends who had set out with a terrible burden so long ago.

Considering that Aragorn was waiting for her in the stables with Brialvastor, and she would see Legolas last, only left for the Elven Dúnedain to take her leave of were Gandalf and Gimli; both of whom she knew she should see again.  Gandalf did not hide the fact that he planned to sail across the Sea, but before then he should visit Gondor often, and with luck Ithilien too.  Gimli and Legolas should see no end of each other, she knew and acknowledged with a wry grin, so from his company she would be parted but a little while.

The pair were together, luckily for her.  Gandalf was tending to Shadowfax, as he always did for he allowed few others to handle the incredible horse.  Gimli was sitting nearby, excitedly explaining his plans for a Dwarvish settlement in Helm's Deep with lots of hand movements.  He seemed so involved in his passion for his plan, that he did not notice the warrior approach.  It was Gandalf who looked up, and smiled softly.

'Greetings, Mithmír Rochiwen,' he said gently.  'I have heard you are to ride out now and heard for Lothlorien.'

'Eh?'  Grumbled Gimli, looking up, annoyed and gruff and being so rudely interrupted.  'You're leaving, rider-maid?'  He didn't look too depressed at the thought, and Mithmír didn't mind.  She could grudge him a little time of Legolas' company – especially considering how her love had been acting.  Maybe things had been going too fast, and they needed some time apart.

'I am indeed,' she replied, with a respectful nod to the Istari.  'I came to say farewell to both of you, for a while at least.  And to thank you for your company.  You've been greatly appreciated.  I never thought I'd meet an Istari.'

Gandalf smiled and his eyebrows bristled.  'It was my pleasure to meet you, Mithmír Rochiwen.  I had heard many tales of you, the best of which were true.'  He chuckled kindly.  'And the rumors and gossip of untrusting Bree-folk were all false, I am glad to say.  You were indeed a worthy companion in the War.'

Mithmír blushed a little.  'My thanks, Gandalf, though I am not sure I merit those comments…'

The next words, coming from the mouth of the Dwarf, shocked Mithmír to the core, coming from him as they did.  'Ye do, warrior-maid.  You're a decent fighter.'

Mithmír turned wide, brown eyes on the Dwarf.  He had _complimented _her!  And being called "decent" by Gimli was a high honour.  'Thank you,' she replied breathlessly, unsure of exactly what to say.

Gimli grumbled something back in return, and perhaps his cheeks reddened under the cover of his thick beard.  He had only just realized he had paid a compliment to the woman, and the idea disconcerted him.  What had he been _thinking_?  Was he a Dwarf or no?  Embarrassed, he quickly turned and shuffled away, muttering Dwarvish curses all the while.

Gandalf smiled after him, before coming forward to lay a fatherly hand on Mithmír's shoulder.  'You should hurry if you wish to reach the borders of the Golden Wood in time for the handfasting.'  He lowered his voice.  'Also, the quicker you leave, the quicker Gimli the Dwarf will be able to regain some face.'  He chuckled a little.  'Go, shield-maiden.  Ilúvatar willing, we shall meet again.'

Mithmír smiled once finally at Gandalf's wizened face and Gimli's back, before turning quickly away on her heel to go and find Legolas, and a much harder goodbye.

***

I know I said this would be the last chapter, but I'm having real writer's block with the next part, so I decided I'd post this bit on its own.  The rest should be up a.s.a.p.  I also posted another short fic called **A Light To Guide **which I would be honoured if you checked out and reviewed.

Also for this chapter, please review and constructive criticism is welcomed.  And trust me, in the next and last chapter you find out why this story is called **All Rivers Flow To The Sea**.

Thanks!

-- Annaicuru__


	36. Rivers and Souls

The Sindarin words filled the clearing with noise.

'You hurt her, Legolas,' Tondfael's voice was edged with concern, 'I doubt you meant to, but you did…'

The other Elf had his back to the _Aratirith_.  He looked out to the forest, almost as if listening to it, his Wood Elf blood coming to the fore instead of his Sindar.  The anger which had previously burned in his eyes was fading away, and being replaced by an emptiness.  'I know,' he replied in icy tones.

'Don't think she finds it easy to leave you or anyone else.  My cousin goes because she wants to.  That doesn't mean she doesn't wish to stay, as well.  And in a few months you'll be together for always.'

'And the order of the _Aratirith _will have the promise that she'd die for them!'  Retorted Legolas, turning around.  'Do you think I find it easy, Tondfael, to deal with the fact that she will give up a part of her soul to protect Aragorn?  That she shall never wholly and truly be mine?  It is hard enough coming to accept the fact that she shall never stay in one place for long anyhow…'  He stopped slowly, eyes still locked with Tondfael's darker ones.  'I love her, Tondfael, and I can never have her as completely as I wish.'

The other Elf's look softened as he understood the reason for the Prince's anger.  Hard as it may be to believe, Legolas Thranduilion was jealous of him, and of all the _Aratirith_, and indeed of anyone who might draw his grey stone away from him.  Tondfael took a step forward, and laid a soothing hand upon his companion's shoulder.  'I think I begin to understand you better now, Legolas.'  He smiled softly, waiting for Legolas to return the smile, and for the fire to calm in his blue eyes, before he spoke again.  'And I think you can be forgiven of a little of your anger, because your feelings are just and reasonable.  You love Mithmír Rochiwen, and it is only natural that you should be less than completely happy for her to take on such a great responsibility as that the _Aratirith _do.  But you love her for her wild, untamable spirit, and that is exactlywhy she shall always wander, and why she shall always fight and risk her life.

'And be sure, Legolas Thranduilion,' he looked serious, and gripped the other Elf's shoulder tighter, 'that she loves you equally as much.  Her eyes light up when she sees you, and when her words turn to you she smiles as the thought of no one else can make her smile.  It makes me glad to see how much love she can hold in a warrior's heart.  It often happens that those who have lived by the sword for nearly all their lives lose the ability to love those pleasures that peace brings; but Mithmír is not affected by this, and to you she wants to give herself completely.  She wants to marry you, Legolas.  I even think that, when she is ready, she wants to bear your children, and for a maiden who has so long denied her own femininity, that is a great thing.  I do not doubt for a second that my beloved cousin wants to spend her entire life with you, Legolas.  Count yourself as lucky; and know that your feelings are returned with equal force.  But keep the promise she has told me you made to her: never tie her down, never hold her back, or else you shall extinguish that spirit which you love so dearly.  Let her wander as she will, and she shall come back to you.  Let her fight as she feels the need to, and she shall take greater care of herself.  Let her become an _Aratirith_, Legolas, and be sure that the others of that order – we, her family – will protect her from any harm or other danger, for her sake and yours.  We care for her, the youngest of our family, the Half-Elf turned immortal, not only because of our love and memory of her mother, but out of our fondness for _her_, the Elven Dúnedain.  Also, do you really think that Aragorn would ever put his niece into any situation that was mortally dangerous?  And do you think Queen Arwen would let her husband into such a situation himself, with or without one of the most skilled fighters in Middle Earth at his side?'  Tondfael smiled a little, wryly.  'Now the War is over, people can afford to be much more careful with their loved ones, now that battles shall be fewer and of less consequence.  Anyhow, I assure you: she shall be one of the safest and most protected High Guards that there ever was, but it would be better not to tell her that.  She could not understand it is love which makes us so protective.  And Legolas,' he leaned forward and softened his voice to a whisper, 'she does love you wholly and completely and above all else under Ilúvatar.  She should die for you.'

And then Legolas was speechless, for the words of the wise _Aratirith _who had seen so much – who had the gift of reading other's emotions – touched him to the core; and he knew then that they were true and always had been.  His blue eyes widened with regret at his previous behavior, and he embraced the other Elf closely.  'You are right, Tondfael, cousin of Mithmír Rochiwen.  Thank you, for all you have done.  I shall let her go, and not grudge her this.'

Tondfael smiled softly, and after a quick nod of his head slipped from the clearing on silent feet.  His work was done.  Meanwhile Legolas stayed there alone for a while longer, thinking on what he had finally realized.  He was aware of his love as soon as she came near, however, and he looked up eagerly, his eyes bright and his hair whipping around as he turned his head.  He noticed two things about her immediately: first the ring on her finger and the power emanating from it.  Secondly, she wore upon her wrist the silver friendship-bracelet gifted to her by Haldir, Tirathnavir and Anoniel, which she had not worn for many long months.  After Sam had noticed it when they were drawing near to Mordor, Mithmír had taken to not wearing it and keeping it in the bottom of her pack instead.  She would not have liked for it to have been broken during fighting or taken from her by some orc.  She had shown it to Legolas once in Gondor, but not since.  This was the first time he had seen her wearing it in many long days, and he thought – rightly – she wore it now to remember her old friends as she traveled to meet them.

Mithmír stopped walking when she saw him, and looked at him with silent awkwardness.  She bit her lip slightly, unsure of what mood he was now in, for she knew not how the talks with Tondfael had been.

Legolas got up slowly, completely awed by her beauty – seeing it again as if it were the day when she had first said "yes" to his proposal – though she looked just the same as she always had.  'Silfëa,' he greeted her in a breathless whisper, before moving towards her and, with all his impatient desire to show her how he truly felt, kissed her slowly and gently, barely touching her lips with his, drawing her close to him.

'Promise me,' he urged, punctuating his words with tiny kisses, 'promise me, _nín meleth_, that you shall return to me…'

'How could I do anything else?'  She asked, her voice more husky than usual, and her cheeks flushed.  'I love you, Legolas.  I shall return and,' her dark eyes met his, and they were genuine, 'I shall marry you.'

'I love you, my shining spirit, my hope, my love, my only…  Please hurry back to my side.  After visiting the sea but once, months ago, I have not been able to rid my mind of the sounds of gulls on the wing and waves on the shore.  It calls me even as Galadriel said it would…  And your voice can drown out those sounds in my mind.  Three people keep me on these shores: Aragorn, Gimli and most of all _you_.  I shall stay here until you are ready to leave.  You know that.  But when you are gone from my side, the call is so great it is so hard not to follow it…' and then his eyes became distanced from hers, and in a hushed voice he recited,

'Pân celyn sirian aer, pân faer reviad bardôr.'  

_All rivers flow to the sea, all spirits return to their homeland._

They both knew the old Elven saying, but at that time Mithmír realized the significance of it: Legolas _would _sail over the Sea, it was only a matter of time.  He waited for those he loved, despite how hard it was for him.

'Return to me, before I am swept away in the river,' he whispered into her ear, nuzzling her close as his warm breath caressed her skin.

'I will,' she promised.  After a while, she pulled away, as loath as she was to do so, and held up her hand to him.  'See Galadriel's present?  It is Tegalu, a –'

'A ring to make you a fair Elven Lady of Ithilien,' finished Legolas with a slight smile.  'Celeborn has told me about it.  It is a wondrous gift.  And you deserve it.'

She smiled softly.  'Thank you.  It's beautiful...'

'Not as beautiful as you.'  The next kiss was deeper than the last, more passionate.  Mithmír pulled away just before she drowned in the fast-paced emotions.

'I have to go, Legolas,' she said regretfully.  'But I swear I shall return to you, before the river sweeps you to the sea.  When your spirit does return to its homeland, I shall be beside you.  I swear.'  She kissed him once more, fleetingly, and then ran away so fast he could not see her tears.

Aragorn embraced his nice one last time, unashamed of his tears.  He had to stand awkward on tiptoes, for she was mounted now on Brialvastor, and her faithful stead was restless and eager to move out on a long ride such as he used to share with his human companion.  He tossed his head about, and no matter how soothing Mithmír's hands in his mane and on his neck were, he still shifted about and sidestepped a little.  Mithmír was riding with only a saddle now, no reins or bridle, and she carried with her daggers, bow and sword.

It was Tondfael's turn to hold her close next, and he kissed her cheeks and her forehead softly.  'Come back to us soon, Mithmír,' he said with a smile as he drew away, letting go of her hand.  'I shall see you next for your marriage – and for your initiation as an _Aratirith_.'

'I'll miss you, my butterfly child,' smiled Aragorn through his tears.  'Take care of yourself.'

'I will,' she replied.  'I will.'

'Wish Haldir and Tirathnavir all happiness.'

'I will.'

'Go now, Mithmír Rochiwen, the maid of horses.  Ride as you were once famous for.'

She smiled back at them, tears falling down her cheeks, and then with a soft word to Brialvastor he moved at a fast trot away, and soon was cantering off along the bare path through the woods.  She did not look back, and their eyes did not leave her.

'Travel well, cousin,' whispered Tondfael.  'And hurry back to those who love you.'

~~  Pân celyn sirian aer, pân faer reviad bardôr  ~~ 

*******

Here ends **All Rivers Flow To The Sea**, the second part of **Trenarn o laeg-lass a mith-mír**.  The story is continued in **Silfëa**.****

***

Thank you _so _much for all your wonderful help and support.  I'd love it if you could review now, even if you haven't managed to review any other chapters.  Any 'regulars', I'd love your opinions too!  I really hoped you enjoyed the story, and as you now know there will indeed be a third, and perhaps some short stories too.  I just want you to all know that your help and comments are greatly appreciated.  I can't put into words how wonderful it is to know I'm not the only one who enjoys hearing about Mithmír.

I should start the next fic a.s.a.p, and I have nearly finished **Elven Dúnedain**, too.

Thank you again!  I promise there will be more Mithmír Rochiwen soon.

-- Annaicuru


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